


The Cook

by Crepsley, LuneRoyal



Series: The Cook Series [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4449617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crepsley/pseuds/Crepsley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuneRoyal/pseuds/LuneRoyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of recollections from the woman who ended up serving aboard the Jackdaw by blind chance. First persona non grata, given the superstitious nature of sailors, the story follows her journey from a poor seamstress to something much more than she could've imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Time seemed to pass in a blur on board the  _Jackdaw_ , but she reckoned it couldn't have been much longer than a half year since the start of her service. It was only in the quiet moments before sleep claimed her that she had the time to contemplate the months spent in the company of pirates - or  _as_   _a_ pirate, rather. Because while she didn't participate in taking a prize, the crew enjoyed her aid in one very significant way; she kept them well fed. In the end, if they got caught and arrested, she would get the noose the same as the rest.

Before the drastic change to her career, she had been a seamstress in Kingston. It wasn't a grand affair, since the unexpected death of her husband essentially crippled the business. Unable to afford any help and with the limited number of orders she could fulfill on her own, every coin earned was painstakingly counted. But all the expenses of her shop taxed her meager income heavily, and some days, she found herself struggling to even have enough to eat.

Matters only became worse when she received a letter from the harbourmaster of Navassa fort. The merchant tasked to deliver the crate of fabric she had ordered raised his price of delivery, and thus, her presence was requested to resolve the issue in person. On such short notice, the sum needed - not only for the journey, but the cargo itself - was nigh on impossible to get a hold of. So, she was faced with two choices: either let her materials go and accept the losses, or risk a loan from a man around town with a dubious reputation.

In a fit which bordered on desperation to keep her shop open, she decided to take a chance with the latter. A terrible mistake, as it turned out to be, because two days after she had been granted credit, the usurer began to harass her relentlessly for an early payback at a higher rate - a nasty token of her gender and marital status. Not that all the effort would be of any significance, since the ship she secured passage on was set upon by pirates not far out of harbor.

The ferocity with which they attacked was redundant; an overkill given the size of the vessel, and she didn't understand what prize they were to gain. The only cargo carried were the belongings of those on board, not nearly enough to satisfy the crew of a larger ship. A brig, she noted, - the type she only recognized from the sizable ram at the front - moments before the hull to the middle deck exploded in a shower of shrapnel, instantly killing those unlucky enough to be in the way.

It didn't take long after that for the survivors to be herded into a group on the main deck, the bodies of the sailors who tried to put up a fight spread out in a grim display. She saw him then and reckoned the memory would stay with her forever. Clad in unusual robes with a hood which obscured most of his face, she had never seen a pirate nor any other man dressed as he was. Yet his armor wasn't the most striking detail. It was the way he carried himself, the way his gaze swept across each prisoner. He didn't need to wear a special uniform for her to know he was the captain; his body language spoke volumes for his authority.

When he addressed them a moment later, her assumption of his position grew more confident.

"I'd got word a cook might be aboard this ship. Where is he?"

There  _was_  a cook, she recalled the portly man with ruddy cheeks. He had been seated not far from her, deep in conversation with another woman about spices. They were one of the first ones to be swept away by the cannon fire. She bit the inside of her cheek, and steeled herself through the worry. There was no way to predict how the pirates would react to the news.

But the reception, she suspected, would be worse if no answer was given. After a long intake of breath for courage, she exhaled shakily and resigned to be the one to call out the fate of the man. As the words built on the tip of her tongue, a meek voice from the crowd of captives beat her to the punch.

The way the captain's features twisted in a rush of anger made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention, and she was glad it wasn't her who came forward. He stood motionless for a moment before he turned towards his ship, puffed up with ire. While unable to see his face, the reaction of his crew was enough. Those still below deck pulled back from the gun ports, and the pirates aboard the captured vessel squirmed at the sight. It all began to make sense to her; the stiffness of his posture, the roared ' _hold your fucking fire_ ' that she could hear as the cannon fire subsided during the initial attack. Someone had made a mistake, perhaps misheard or disobeyed an order and the error had cost them the life of the man they came for.

Emboldened by the presumed lack of attention, some of the passengers began to murmur amongst each other. In one sharp motion, the captain's eyes fired back to them again, a pistol pulled from his baldric and trained directly at those who dared break the silence. It was impressive, how he could tell without so much as a cursory glance where the sound had come from.

" _Shut your gob!_ "

She flinched at the sound of his bellow together with those around her, and the way he pressed on every single word made it clear, that if further aggravated, he would not hesitate to pull the trigger. As stillness fell upon them once more, she watched him struggle to regain composure, one hand slowly dragging down his face. He stopped to scratch through his stubble, and it made her wonder what would happen next. It looked as if he asked himself the very same question. Without further provocation, the pirates should theoretically let them go with enough resources to get to the nearest port. But given what had transpired, she was afraid the captain's anger would drive him to just sink them all.

"Take everything that's of some worth." The order was barked as he threw his hood back to reveal flaxen hair tied together messily. After he watched his crew set out to fulfill his command he turned back to the captives, his gaze intent. "Give voice, then. Anyone else here who can cook?"

A whisper passed through the group, but otherwise there was no answer.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before he repeated the question, his patience obviously wearing thin again. With no hindrance to her view of his face, she noted how tired he seemed, how ashen and dry his skin was. On his best days, the captain was easily a handsome man. But now, his features were sunk in. With a quick glance to those of his crew who were still on the main deck, she saw the same look mirrored.

The prolonged silence stoked his irritation and when he demanded a reply, there was finality to his tone. Not that she could blame him for his insistence on finding someone; they most likely hadn't seen a good meal in quite some time - a predicament she was unfortunately just as well acquainted with.

Those around her, based on the whispers she caught, refused to speak up. While their defiance was understandable, it was not the wisest course in their current situation. When malnourished, one was more prone to aggression and the redundant force of their attack was a prime example of that. But deep down, there was another voice which egged her on to volunteer. It wasn't hard to note how well armed the crew was, how organized they moved despite their condition. Their ship was exceptionally armored, more so than any other pirate vessel was supposed to be, given what she had heard from rumors. Prosperous in everything, except for one very important detail.

If she became the one who provided them with hearty meals, perhaps she could also profit alongside them. That was the other voice, the one that went hand in hand with her will to survive, and steadily built up her courage: greed. A reckless endeavour, no doubt, but with no way to her order and an aggressive loan shark after her, what the pirates could offer would surely be better. For once, she had the opportunity to make a choice over her life - which, up until then had mostly been a series of arrangements made on her behalf. With a voice steady enough to not give away her nervousness, she stood and addressed the captain with her offer of service.

When his eyes settled on her, she tried not to squirm under his gaze. It was easier to be brave without the scrutiny, even if his irritation had subsided somewhat and there wasn't any open hostility to him as he assessed her. But she couldn't quite place the look on his face. Given their state, one would've expected him to jump at the opportunity. Instead, he seemed reluctant to so much as consider her. Confused by his hesitance, her bewilderment grew mixed with a flash of anger when he rejected her outright by turning away. Then, he repeated his question to the others as if she had never even tried to talk to him.

Embarrassed, she felt her cheeks light up and the wound to her pride got the best of her.

"Ach, if you'd rather waste more time tryin' to talk to a crowd who're obviously unresponsive to your demands, then by all means ignore the only person who's offerin' what you want." With a sharp shove, she shook off the hand of the man who attempted to tug her back down. " _Get it up ye!_  I  _can_  cook and  _I_  volunteer."

Startled gasps broke out in the wake of her outburst, some even looked as if they wanted her to leave with the pirates. The captain raised an eyebrow once his attention was back on her, and for a second, she swore the corners of his lips curved upwards slightly. Perhaps her gall made a good impression.

"What's your name then,  _Scotland?_ "

Mindful of the fact that with every flare of temper her accent slipped back to that of her homeland, she swallowed the comment. That jab was deserved.

"It's  _Miss_  Emmaline Fraser, sir."

The emphasis to her title was a deliberate one, as was the conscious decision to use her maiden name for the first time in seven years. With no ties or a husband to return to, surely she'd seem more appealing.

"Been a while since I have been barked at so loud." If she thought the last time he looked at her was an uncomfortably close inspection, then she was about to stand corrected. He didn't so much as give her a once over, but more sized her up with his head slightly tilted to the side, and it made her mouth dry out. Beyond the intensity of his gaze, there were no other hints to what he thought as his features were well guarded. Given his earlier mood, she began to think her rant might've been a mistake she would come to regret.

"Awfully eager to join my crew,  _Miss Emmaline Fraser_. Why is that?"

Ignoring the blatant mockery of her introduction, she instead focused on how he took a step toward her, the man closest to his feet desperate to get out of the way before he got stepped on. While he seemed more open to entertain the possibility of her aboard his ship, she still had the distinct impression something was off. The occasional almost wary side glances towards his crew only intensified the notion, but she steeled herself against her concerns and replied with a confident voice.

"I'm a chancer, and I fancy the money." The look unhindered of surprise on his face made up for the mixture of emotions she had felt minutes before and she took advantage of the upper hand. "You and your crew look just a wee famished, Captain. I offer my service to you willingly, no pressure of threat. I'm also a seamstress, so I would be able to help mend the tears in your sails, or even stitch your wounds."

He laughed, short and barking, and ran his tongue along his upper teeth; a gesture she took as a positive sign.

Yet there was no other answer either way, which made Emma grow more restless by the minute. Her impatience didn't go unnoticed, and after a longer pause, the captain turned his head towards a man who still stood aboard his ship. An imposing figure, even from afar, with dark skin and a bandana tied around his head. One such as him would've been memorable amongst those pirates who boarded, but he never did. Instead, he stood guard on the quarterdeck of the brig, his hands firmly rested on the wheel.

A look passed between them, perhaps the final push needed for a decision to be made, because next she knew, she was given an order.

"Gather your belongings."

It took her some time to find her satchel, and then some more to wrestle it from a pirate's grasp. Whispers followed her as she made her way to their ship to cross over, which showed just how fast news travelled amongst the crew. While they previously seemed ambivalent towards their prisoners - whether due to lack of energy or simply apathy - they now eyed her suspiciously. Some, she would've said, even with open hostility.

"Boggin bastards," Emma muttered, her meager wealth clutched to her chest. "Prospect of a good meal don't seem to please them."

The captain, or she supposed now he was  _her_  Captain, was aware of the change to their behavior. He stalked close behind as he escorted her onto his brig, and from the corner of her eye, she swore he looked ready to jump on a moment's notice.

Once on board, she felt at a loss. Unsure of what to do next, but anxious to get away from their stares, she feebly pointed at the hatch that led below deck.

"I'll settle in then, yes?"

Stopped by a firm grasp to her elbow, he spun her towards his cabin and a nudge to her back made his intention clear. With scandalized heat in her cheeks, she opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a harsh whisper before she could voice her indignation.

"Stay quiet,  _lass_ , and do as I say. I'll explain inside."

Emma felt the vehemence evaporate from her offense as her gaze followed his. The pirates had since finished with the other ship and returned to their own, spread around the main deck in a crescent which cut off all routes except the one the captain urged her to take. Frozen in place by a rush of panic, she became acutely aware of how he emphasized the word 'lass', and the penny finally dropped. The initial rejection, then the hesitance, the look his crew had given her...She cursed herself for forgetting one important detail: sailors were superstitious about women aboard their vessels.

The captain saw her make the connection and nodded towards his cabin wordlessly. That time, she didn't falter to obey him.

* * *

The door to his cabin muted little of the argument that raged on for minutes. She barely made it in before the crew exploded into a clamor of protest against her gender. Afraid of what was to happen next, Emma moved to the back of the cabin, somewhat reassured with two heavy desks between her and the outside. An illusion, most likely. If the pirates decided to come for her, furniture would do little to hold them back.

The noise ceased when she heard the captain's voice bellow over the rest, demanding silence. When the crew obeyed his order, albeit with some argument, he flat out refused to abandon her. His temper returned as he denied the men their right to vote on the grounds of disobeyed orders - which, as she had guessed, cost the life of the man they had originally come to confiscate. Displeased shouts of objection followed, which he categorically shut down with a single, but entirely firm ' _enough._ '

What followed next surprised her. It wasn't a grandiose monologue about being united by the desire to live freely, to spend as they pleased, far removed from the laws and traditions that shackled them in the first place. That, in what she guessed was her naiveté, is what she would've expected.

She looked up as heavy footsteps crossed the quarterdeck above her. His voice was louder due to the proximity.

"I'm hungry, lads. We all are."

The crew murmured in agreement.

"I'm also tired of eating the shite Smithy tries to pass off as grub." Someone's insulted yell brought a smile to her lips and the others shared her amusement as they roared with laughter. For a moment she considered how unorthodox the captain's method of diffusing a possible mutiny was. Instead of a long and inspired address, he chose to muster enough joviality to entertain them. It was creative, something she wouldn't have thought of him at first glance.

"So I reckon we don't bite the hand that's about to feed us, aye?" While he sounded lighthearted, there was no mistake that his firmness was still there. The message was clear; the matter was no longer up for discussion.

Emma's grasp tightened around the satchel clutched to her chest as she waited for what would happen next. Based on the sounds, the crew seemed to return to their posts. Although their disapproval hadn't dissipated, - that much was obvious from what she could make out - they decided to put issue aside. Her assumption proved to be correct when a short time later an order was barked.

"Mains out, let's get moving!"

* * *

The first thing he did after he entered was to take a hearty swig from a bottle pulled from a crate by the door. When she refused the offer for a drink, he shrugged, then moved to settle behind the heavy mahogany desk at the back of the cabin. For a moment he closed his eyes and leaned back, exhaustion clear on his face. Emma waited patiently, hands folded behind her back as she stood in silence. He smiled briefly when she had his attention again, and he introduced himself.

Edward Kenway.

"Am I safe then?" She inquired warily after the ship's articles were read. The question, while mainly aimed to quash the worry of any physical harm that might become her, had another purpose: to serve as a distraction from the image of the awful punishment she'd have to endure if, by chance, she went and pissed in the ballast.  _I don't even know where that is_ , she thought, but regardless vowed to use the designated areas to relieve herself just to be safe.

"Reckon so."

"Am sorry? That's hardly comforting after what just happened outside."

Edward stared at her thoughtfully while his fingers drummed on the document she was meant to sign. He appeared to weigh his next words with care and her stomach tightened in a rush of anxiety.

"I'll tell it as is, Miss Fraser. As is custom among our kind, we do not usually take on women for service. But you," There was a short pause in which he smirked at her, "and let this stay 'twixt us, have made a  _touching_  appeal. Your gall earned you at least a chance in my books. That said, I still can't foretell how the lads will behave." When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised a hand and cut her short with an expression that read ' _I'm not done talking yet._ '

"I'm no fool, or the like, unaware of the dangers you might face. It's why I'll assign you a mate, to help and protect you." The look on his face then turned almost impish, and she raised an eyebrow in suspicion. Emma had the definite sense he was up to no good. "You'll bunk in my cabin until you settle in proper."

Of all the things she had expected him to say, the cohabitation of his cabin was not one of them. Her response must've been what he had expected, since Edward laughed like a cad who had gotten the exact reaction he aimed for. But he otherwise made no effort to officiate her service, and she stood there confused, unsure whether he only tried to ruffle her feathers or not.

"Is this a jest?"

"No."

 _Oh_. Slowly, she sunk into the chair opposite to his, ignoring how he didn't offer her a seat - after his proposal, etiquette was hardly at the forefront of her mind. While there had been no mention of a shared bed, she wanted to know exactly what the arrangement would entail. If she was to sign her name to a contract, Emma had to be sure what he said was not a subtle indication that she would have to be intimate with him for a job, or protection.

"…are we to sleep together?"

"No." Edward feigned innocence poorly. "I was to string a hammock up in a corner, but…"  _Here it comes_ , she thought, since his tone dropped to cornily flirtatious. "If you'd rather have me on the bed, how can I refuse?"

It took actual effort not to roll her eyes at the obvious attempt to get a rise out of her. Instead, Emma stared at him with a deadpan expression and decided to teach him that, while she was somewhat out of her depth, she didn't like to be teased willy nilly by anyone.

"Sounds like there's some confusion,  _Captain_ , as it seems you're very keen on stuffing. Perhaps a switch of roles is called for, then."

The unimpressed look on his face was on par with hers from moments earlier and he hid a sigh with a swig from a flagon nearby. Despite her best intentions, a small laugh of victory escaped her. Edward set his drink down and grimaced, but the expression was too lackluster to be one of actual annoyance. Rather, he seemed to understand she would not sit idly while he tried to hassle her. With a slight bow to his head, he gave her a wry smile.

"Fair enough. Point taken."


	2. Chapter 2

Emma was jolted out of the memory by a thud not far from her tent, followed by a string of loud curses. They had met up with Benjamin Hornigold a week prior and stopped on an island to careen the ships, as well as to allow the crews some time to blow off steam. This meant the pirates were in a drunken stupor more often than not and the noise of their merriment regularly kept her awake well into the night. When no yells for aid came from whomever fell over, Emma went back to her thoughts.

While the attitude on the  _Jackdaw_  towards her had improved somewhat throughout the months, she had no illusions she was anything other than tolerated. Even that status had been a hard battle to achieve, as most men flat out ignored her presence for the first few weeks. Maybe they liked to pretend the food had just appeared out of nowhere, or perhaps even cooked itself. Only a select few tried to be remotely courteous, but even they didn't do much more than greet her.

Her mate, Billy, - a young lad of fifteen years - on the other hand, was of great help. Not just in her duties, but in keeping her spirits high in an environment in which she lacked friends. It didn't matter where she went, he followed closely behind. Even to the head, where he waited patiently until she had done her business. At first, the constant company was strange. But as time passed, it became more apparent that they enjoyed each other's presence. In the end, she had become so used to him, it felt unusual when he wasn't around.

"If I could 'ave a big sister, I'd fancy 'er to be just like you." He had said one day as they gutted fish together, his smile genuine. The sincerity in his tone brought a warmth to her chest, and before she could really think much of it, she pressed a gentle peck to his forehead. In truth, the affection was mutual - albeit with a motherly overtone - and she was as good for him, as he was for her. Under her care, Billy's problem with his attention span slowly started to improve, which in turn, made him more reliable.

The ship's quartermaster, Adéwalé, had also treated her well. He had been the man she saw on the quarterdeck the day she signed on, and while he was just as imposing from up close as he had been from a distance, he was nothing but respectful. Around him, Emma felt like one of the crew. Not once did he address her differently to any of the others, which made her comfortable when she had to talk to him.

Then, of course, there was the good captain. She had not expected them to interact much, assumed the time they would have to share in his cabin would be awkward. Rather, the two of them eventually fell into a comfortable routine. It took some effort, as she felt somewhat timid about the arrangement, but Edward - despite his keenness to tease her - was mindful of the situation and allowed her to lead the progression of their acquaintance. When he poured over his maps or planned their next raid, Emma kept silent, her presence barely noticeable. He showed her the same courtesy in the evenings as she read, even though she had told him conversation was not unwelcome. At times it felt almost bizarre sharing such intimate space with someone who only addressed her formally, as Miss Fraser.

Having his hammock strung up opposite the bed with a desk between them wouldn't ordinarily have been a problem; however, their agreement had unfortunately forced him to bunk on his back. Edward, as it turned out from his admission, slept best on his belly. Any position other than that made him snore and fidget louder, which prompted Emma to get up many a time in the middle of the night to nudge him awake. After a few bumps that resulted in bruises, she quickly learned the cabin turned into quite an obstacle course once the candles were blown out.

Eventually she had gotten so sore, the prospect of further aches increased her reluctance to make the trip to him. So instead, she began to throw any object within reach across the room once he got too noisy. Not the soundest plan, as one night when jolted from a dream, Emma groggily grabbed the tankard kept next to the bed and tossed it, forgetting there was still water inside. As fortune would have it, some splashed back onto her, the rest, - from what she could hear - on one of the walls... and Edward. After a startled groan and a long colorful string of expletives mixed with the sound of furious creaks from the hammock, he called across to warn her never to do that again.

With the incident in mind, she tried to get them to switch cots to limit their midnight adventures, but he'd decline every time and wouldn't miss a beat to tease her over it.

"Jaysus, stop fussing. I'll get used to it, no mind."

* * *

The first palpable change to their dynamic came after the  _Jackdaw_  had taken a prize. As the crew regrouped to tend to their wounded, Edward lumbered into the cabin, weary and bloodied.

"Most of this ain't mine." Although short, his smile was genuine and she assumed it was intended as reassurance that his exhaustion outweighed the pain.

Yet when her eyes settled on his left shoulder, she noted his leather pauldron had been shot through - which meant at least  _some_  of it  _was_  his.

"Someone ought to see to that."

"Aye, it's why I'm here." He nodded towards the door when Emma gave him a confused look. "Few of the lads need the surgeon and his mate more than I."

She swallowed hard as she watched him attempt to slowly disarm, wincing every now and then. If the healers were needed elsewhere on the ship, she couldn't simply turn Edward away and let him bleed for ages just because she had no idea what to do. Emma grimaced internally. In the end, it was her who offered to stitch wounds when needed.

"Wait, let me." With a gentle tug, she guided him to the navigation table and watched him settle against it. The robes he wore were a nightmare, which made her wonder how he was even able to get dressed at the speed he did every morning with so many pieces to his attire. After some tussle, she worked out how to unbuckle the myriad of belts, then gingerly pulled the outfit's top layer - the remnants of a blue overcoat - off of him. A few more garments and leather pads later, they had managed to help each other rid him of most of his armor.

"These are quite well done." Emma commented on the frills at the end of his cuffs as she undid them. Rather weathered and yellowing, as well as bloodied in some places, but detailed; it was an interesting feature of his otherwise practical and heavy gear.

Edward snorted in amusement as a reply and kept an entertained expression as he watched her try to peel him out of the shirt. It would've been faster had she not felt somewhat out of her depth, unsure of the etiquette the situation called for. Preferable to embarrassment, especially given how the other pirates treated her, was caution. So, with ever so light touches in an attempt to not seem improper  _with the Captain_ , she tried her best to undress him.

"Undo some of the laces."

Emma froze mid movement. There was only one thing he could've referred to and those were his breeches.  _That is really inappropriate_ , she thought in a bit of a panic, which stemmed from the uncertainty of her position on the ship. With barely any friends, her aim was to bolster her image, not possibly weaken it; rumors of their intimate involvement amongst men who frowned upon just her very presence could undermine all her hard work.

Except she struggled to pull the hem of his shirt free from his trousers for a while beforehand, so she knew his suggestion was not meant to get a rise out of her. Edward had stuffed the garment so far down that she had to, in fact, follow his advice.

It was a complicated mixture of emotions that lit her cheeks up, mostly made up of the worry of her actions being misunderstood as anything but innocent, as well as the unfamiliarity of stripping a man she barely knew. Granted, her first night as a married woman had been similar, but he was neither her husband nor was the situation meant to have an intimate feel to it.

Yet Emma was aware his eyes followed her every movement and even with her attention on her hands, she could sense Edward wordlessly tease her. When she peered up once the laces had been undone, the look on his face was one of thinly veiled enjoyment. Annoyed and put on the spot, she took a step back, folding her arms in front of her chest.

"Pull it out."

The command was meant to be a simple one, aimed to get him to finish the task himself if he was so adamant to act like a cad. But when he raised his eyebrows with a sly smirk, her face colored an even deeper shade of red at the realization. In hindsight, Emma should've expected him to take advantage of a poorly worded sentence.

"Oh my days, you're  _such_  a child!" She paused long enough to see him look taken aback for a split second. "Hope you had your laugh bein' a right arse to someone who is clearly nervous about this whole situation, 'cause I'll now leave you to stitch your own arm up."

Edward tilted his head to the side and now his brow lifted inquisitively rather than out of mockery, as if he considered calling her bluff. The realization that she had subconsciously tensed up, squared her shoulders and puffed out her chest in preparation for confrontation only became apparent when his posture changed. He straightened, his expression guarded - so much so she couldn't even guess at what was on his mind - and regarded her intently for what seemed like an entire minute.

Emma tried not to interpret the gesture as an intimidation tactic, but she felt tested - a close examination of her mettle. Nervous or not, she held his gaze with all the determination her mood could muster. The joke had been taken too far and he had made her uncomfortable in an already anxiety filled situation; any decent captain had to have at least basic respect for his crew. She wondered if their little stand off was the trial in which she would earn that esteem, or if he had no idea his social graces could be rather lax at times. Yet if he tried for the former, in some twisted way, she had to admit it had logic for him to assess how she would react when pressed - in the end, she was still  _persona non grata_  to most of the other men, and therefore most likely to be hassled.

Clinging onto her irritation, Emma pushed it to the forefront to rule over all else she might've felt. And feel, she did. Quite a wide range of emotions, actually. But if she were to allow any of those to show, they would've only undermined her stance and put her in a submissive position; a weakness she thought she could not afford. The worry, the nervousness, the anxiety, all of those were there, just pushed to the back of her mind as she held onto the slight to her honor.

Perhaps the slight raise of her chin in defiance and the determination on her face had done the trick, because Edward's body relaxed and he pulled his shirt out of his breeches, followed by an open sweep of his uninjured arm.

With an acknowledging nod, Emma moved back and stripped him of the garment. While still gentle, as to not pull on the injury, her touches became somewhat bolder from a small flash of smugness - so much so, that as a last jab at his previously boorish behavior, she laced his breeches back up a little tighter than they were before. Edward, on the other hand, made no move to react to her less than subtle dig and she made a mental note never to play cards with him.

It was after she had stepped away to retrieve some rum that she saw the full extent of him bare chested for the first time, and the sight caught her off guard. Despite all the armor, he looked rather lean when completely geared up. In his state of half undress, however, Emma could see that he was wider and bulkier than she had expected.

"Something the matter?"

"Oh, no. Not at all." With a quick smile she returned to his side and uncorked the bottle. "There's just more of you than I anticipated."

When he gave her a confused look, she pointed at his robes.

"Your attire slims you down a fair bit, so your sturdiness is not as pronounced as it is now."

"Be that as it may, it still answers just fine."

"All I mean is, the deception could prove an advantage during your..." Emma paused as she realized she didn't quite know what to call his activities. "Shenanigans?"

Whatever defensiveness his posture held after the assumed negativity of her initial comment vanished when Edward snorted lightly. "Well, that's a top way of seeing it."

The short exchange acted as a momentary distraction, however the first glimpse of the injury was a strong reminder of what she had to do. Rather a messy tear than the small cut that he made it out to be, Emma froze. Beyond all the blood on his arm, his flesh had parted into two jagged pieces and she guessed the bullet had passed through too close to the surface, opening his shoulder up. A shiver ran down her spine at the knowledge she had to be the one to mend that. With renewed nervousness, her eyes settled on the rum she still clung to and her jaw set. If she didn't want to puke into Edward's lap, something had to be done about the finickiness.

A drink seemed like the most logical remedy to the situation. At least after a swig or two, the sight of blood wouldn't get such a strong reaction from her. Emma threw the bottle back with a little too much bravado, an act she regretted the second the alcohol hit her tongue. Thick and potent, the first gulp felt like she had swallowed hot tar. As her eyes watered, she fumbled to steady herself between coughs and splutters, her entire face on fire. It was Edward who finally caught her before he set her against the navigation table, then patted her firmly on the back until her gasps subsided.

"Easy now. That's not a drink one enjoys lightly."

"Yes, I can see  _why_." Her voice was barely above a strangled whisper since it felt as if her throat had been scalded from the inside. It took Emma a few minutes to collect herself, but once done, she had settled in to begin work. After some rum was put aside to clean the wound, she handed the bottle to him, and watched, somewhat slack-jawed, as he glugged down a few fat gulps from it. For the best, it was sure. The least he knew about what she was about to do to his arm, the better.

" _Oh_ …"

"Hmm?"

"Your tattoo." The portrait of a woman on his left shoulder, now ruined from the shot that caught him straight across it. The features, and most of the head had become indiscernible, only the neck and the part of the frame below untouched by the carnage. "I reckon you will need to redo this."

When his only reply was a hum, which almost seemed indifferent, her curiosity to know the story behind the ink grew - even if she had her suspicions about who the lady was. Still, after months of shared cabin space, she ventured she deserved to know at least a little about the man who essentially lived with her.

"Your wife?"

Edward's body tensed under her touch in the wake of the question, and Emma winced at her directness. Perhaps if more subtly broached, his reaction to the topic might've been different. But the stiffness had gone just as quickly as it came, and he relaxed back before answering, albeit somewhat guardedly.

"Something like that."

Curt and to the point; that much she knew of him to understand it would not benefit her to pursue the conversation any further. With her tongue held despite the interest, she focused instead on cleaning the blood off his arm. Even the vapors of the rum made her eyes sting, and she hoped her gentleness around the injury did not suffer from the momentarily impaired vision. But Edward made no show that her ministrations caused him any pain, save for a few winces here and there.

Mending flesh was an experience Emma could've best described as odd. Her lack of know-how with the technique meant the first few stitches posed quite the challenge. It wasn't just her best effort to close up such a ragged wound that posed an issue, but also the sensory overload - the sight mixed with the sounds and smells had brought her nausea back with a vengeance. Perceptive as always, he had stopped her by the time she held the third break in which she paused and turned her head to take a few breaths. Then, with a wordless gesture, he motioned at a pitcher filled with water. And to think she assumed her lack of skill would be the hardest obstacle to conquer.

While warm and hardly refreshing, the drink still managed to be of some aid. Silence settled upon them as they sat for some time and waited for her to recover.  _This is ridiculous_ , Emma thought. The matter had dragged out too long, which her pride began to take offense to. Her reactions to the situation started to appear as sad excuses and she fisted the fabric of her skirt in irritation.  _Well, this is a rather piss-poor attempt at proving myself capable when I can't even stitch up a damned cut without feeling faint._

Threat to her dignity steeled her innards like not much else and she got up with purpose. Meat was what she worked with in the galley every day, the only difference now was that the one under her hands had a pulse. With a deep breath and a determined expression, she resumed where she had left off, engrossed in the quality of her stitching rather than the act itself. Every thread had to be at an even distance, straight and not overly tight so it didn't cause him any discomfort. By the time his voice broke her out of her concentration, Emma's face was just inches away from his shoulder.

"I've never been done this fancy." The amusement on Edward's face made her suspect she might've gone to the opposite extreme - far off the much prefered middle ground.

He didn't tease as expected, though, but instead first began to talk to her about the prize they had taken earlier and how he had gotten shot. Once finished with that, he continued with other stories of his escapades as a pirate, the most adventurous one being how he had come to be the captain of the  _Jackdaw_. It wasn't so much a conversation, since while she listened, her eyes had to be on his arm at all times which limited her involvement. However, it definitely wasn't one sided, either. When Edward's anecdotes turned humorous, Emma laughed, or gasped at the audacity of some of the men he told her about. It didn't matter how focused she was on her work, she would always have a reaction, no matter what he talked about.

Later, she would realize he indirectly guided her to a more comfortable disposition by distracting her with chatter and amusement - a gesture which made her smile.

There were only a few stitches worth left, but try as she might, the angle was never quite right. The change to a different position seemed the most logical solution, so with skirts hiked in one hand, she moved a few steps to the side and bent in close. A sense of accomplishment filled her when she finally finished, but the sentiment of victory quickly turned into sheepishness as she realized where she had scooted in her concentration. With Edward's legs between hers, she squatted low enough to nearly straddle his thighs and her arm found support on his chest.

For a split second he looked almost captivated with his lips slightly parted, but his expression soon shifted to amused. Even so, it took them a second of staring at each other before Emma hastily apologized and began to pull back. In an attempt to not tangle her petticoats with him, she hesitantly used him as a brace once again, then stopped at an appropriate distance. Yet despite the hurry, she didn't fail to notice how his skin prickled when the tips of her fingers accidentally drifted across his chest.

The urge to purposefully observe him seemed to come out of nowhere. Inexplicably, it was as if she had seen Edward properly for the very first time despite the months spent on the ship, and in her core she felt a spark of  _something_.

It would've been a lie to say he was hard to look at, but Emma never really considered it given the myriad of other things which preoccupied her. In essence, previously he had just been a handsome stranger she gave no second thought to. Now, however, that single moment had started a chain reaction and a faint voice in the back of her mind whispered, ' _it wouldn't be hard to be attracted to him_.'

With a deliberate cough into her hand, she straightened her clothes perhaps a little too thoroughly. Edward also seemed overly keen on busying himself with the inspection of his new threadwork and she made a point to seem casual in the midst of the sudden tension she could not yet define.

"I hope it's not too tight."

The attention he previously had on his shoulder was turned to her at the sound of her voice, and he flashed a satisfied half-smile.

"No-no, it'll do just fine. Cheers," Edward paused, his expression indiscernible. " _Emma_."

Her first name off his lips should've sounded too intimate for their professional relationship, considering how the only other person to address her as that instead of 'Emmaline' was her twin brother. But given how she felt they had shared a moment, the gesture was not entirely inappropriate. A convenient excuse - that exchange, whether imagined or not - to silence whatever guilt she had that the way he now addressed her, she didn't half mind.

"You're welcome,  _Edward_."

* * *

When she had first signed up to serve on the _Jackdaw_ , companionship was hardly anywhere near the top of her priority list. In all honestly, she did not even expect it. As long as the crew treated her in a civil manner and allowed her to go on about her duties, all would be well. But when something close to a friendship started to bloom between her and Edward, Emma had to admit she really didn't mind in the slightest.

The use of first names wasn't the only detail which created a more casual dynamic between them.

Whereas previously they both made sure to give the other space during their separate evening activities, now they began to interact more. He started out small and made it a habit to ask about the parts which amused her when she read, so he could share in the laughter. Later, they progressed to general conversation about their day, or the crew's misbehavior, which often ended in playful banter.

The fluctuations to her accent were a topic he seemed to be particularly 'fond' of. At first, he seemed amused by how she occasionally sounded more proper, honest-to-god posh, only to then slip back to Scottish a moment later. Her speech was riddled with these switches and after a laugh, Emma went on to explain with good humor. Years spent away from home would've done enough damage on its own, yet the main contributor to the mess was none other than her late husband. Alexander, rest his soul, while a good man, hated his heritage with a passion. So much so, that he tried his best to eliminate any indication he wasn't exactly born in London. His efforts were successful, and despite her determination to not follow in his footsteps, she had unwittingly assimilated to some extent.

"Sounds like a right pillock."

With only a hum in reply, she let the conversation end. A pillock, perhaps, although Emma reckoned he was more a man deeply unhappy with the disadvantages the place of his birth had given him.

The exchange seemed to alleviate more formality from between them, and the company served as some distraction when the Sun beat down on them with increased intensity. To her surprise, it was Edward who had initiated the drastic change to her attire on an especially scorching day. At times, the weather in the Caribbean in of itself was a struggle to endure, even after years. Coupled with the musty and putrid stench ships had below deck, she often felt near overwhelmed. If the heat radiated from the hull's wood wasn't bad enough, then the stove surely did her in. All in all, under several layers of petticoats and two corsets, Emma felt cooked.

When she waddled into the cabin drenched in sweat and with cheeks as ruddy as his sash, Edward looked on with sympathetic amusement.

"I'm fair plucked, Jesus Christ."

"Wondered when all those gubbins would get the best of you." He commented as she ungraciously flopped down onto the bed and fought the urge to lift her skirts around her neck to help cool her legs. That gesture, perhaps, would've been a tad  _too_  friendly.

"Not like I've anything else to wear."

"I'll see what I can muster."

Emma's eyes followed curiously as he got up from his desk and walked to the dresser packed full with an assortment of clothes she had never seen him touch before. After some time spent digging around, he turned and tossed a pile of fabric next to her. A white shirt was the first she noted, simple cut, with no ruffles on the cuffs or collar. Instead, the neck dipped low with a series of laces to control how much cleavage she showed, but the style was billowy which would allow more breeze to pass through it than a corset. The trousers, however, were an entirely different matter. They were beautifully-tailored, hand-made Spanish traditional breeches in beige thick rib corduroy with brass buttons and leather inner knee panels. Not of current fashion, but she could hardly be picky.

"And lose the shoes, it'll aid your sea legs." Edward called after her as she disappeared behind the curtain of their makeshift room divide.

Under mundane circumstances, a woman seen in men's garb would no doubt kick up quite a scandal, and the knowledge sent an audacious thrill through her as she slipped from her shift into the new attire. The lighter fabric proved infinitely better than the sweltering confines of her underskirts.

Yet try as she might, the breeches would not stay on her hips and would drop to the floor the moment she let go.

"Edward, do you reckon you've something a wee bit smaller?"

"Looks as though I've only bigger to offer."

Once she had the hem of both the trousers and shirt bunched tightly in one hand, Emma stepped out from behind the curtain looking dejected.

His struggle to contain his amusement at first made Edward look like he had tasted something particularly sour; but the battle was lost when seconds later his resolve crumbled and he burst out in roars of laughter.

With a deadpan expression, she stood there silent as the grave until his fits subsided, then purposefully tugged on her attire.

"What am I supposed to do with these, then?"

When he threw her a sash, Emma's first reaction was to catch it in both hands. But given her predicament, she didn't quite fancy the  _exposure_  that would come with the maneuver.

"String 'em up."

Despite the cheekiness, Edward stuck around to help her secure the sash around her hips, as she couldn't do it on her own - it was strange still, the novelty of the outfit, and it would take some practice before she mastered all the moves.

"This'll sort you good and proper." He commented from behind her as he finished with a knot that would've fit a rope better, complicated enough to hold fast through any situation. "Ain't fancy, but amongst the tars of the  _Jackdaw_  it'll serve just fine."

Emma didn't catch all that was said as most of her attention focused on how both of his hands still idled gently on her hips, longer than necessary just to seem courteous. Edward must've noticed the lack of response and the way her head was angled, since he pulled back, almost too abruptly - then proceeded to mask the gut reaction by attentively looking over her to ensure all was in order.

And just as confusing as it had been earlier in the month, that spark of  _something_  - accompanied by a flash of heat - she felt made an appearance again.


	3. Chapter 3

She rolled onto her side and yawned, the sounds of drunken pirates somewhat softer. Most of them had probably passed out by then or were making a final effort to do so and she thought back to the past week in order to aid her drowsiness. An unorthodox choice, given what had happened.

_The Benjamin_  and the  _Jackdaw_  had been careened side by side as each crew worked on their respective ships. Progress was slow, many already too sauced for hastiness. Edward didn't like the idea of his men not sober on the job, but Captain Hornigold reassured him that maintenance and caulking would be done just as well, if only at a little more leisurely pace than usual. Reluctantly, he allowed the drinks to flow and after he gathered a small party, they went off to hunt.

Emma had been further down the beach from the vessels to collect crabs, thankful for the freedom - both in movement and from the heat - she enjoyed through her new attire. While she undoubtedly looked peculiar, since while the height difference wasn't too great between her and Edward, he was much bulkier, and even with modifications, the shirt and breeches were still too big. In the weeks spent dressed like such amongst the crew, no one commented. At least, not to her face. But one thing she couldn't avoid, and those were their eyes.

_They stared_. She was certain they gaped more than when she had been in her skirts; not that she could blame them. Now there was not only a woman aboard their ship, but one who took to dressing as one of them after a fashion. Pirates they might've been, but the men still held onto some of the traditions created by the societies they so easily renounced. Despite all their crimes, or other debaucherous actions, the sight of her in trousers had thrown them.

The confusion intensified when she met Hornigold, although the other captain held his tongue and only gave a slightly scandalized look. His crew, however, voiced their opinion openly. With her patience taxed, she took their comments with cold indifference. After a round of jeers, the pirates returned to burn barnacles off the hull with torches - she had been no more than a moment's amusement to them.

Once the satchel was full of crabs and the odd washed up oyster, Emma turned to walk back to camp, only to be stopped by the sound of loud creaking. The palm trees  _The Benjamin_  had been tied to visibly strained under the weight of the ship, all of them heavily bent. Yet the pirates seemed too engrossed in their 'hard earned' drinks and no one paid any attention the lone figure stood under the vessel that was about to pitch.

Her blood ran cold when the realization of who it was hit, all semblance of wariness gone as she raced down the beach.

"Billy!" Emma shrieked at the top of her lungs, " _Move!_ "

With a look of confusion in her direction, he remained still as if completely oblivious to the danger he was in. As her heart hammered in her chest frantically, she pushed herself to her limits to reach him in time - just a few more strides and he would've been well within reach to be tackled out of the way. But when the dreaded sound came once more, she knew it would be too late.  _The Benjamin_  shook and rolled over slightly with a deep groan. Billy reacted quickly then, diving backwards onto the sand. While his speed had saved him from instant death, he didn't escape far enough and parts of his shirt got pinned under.

The knowledge that only one of the ropes snapped gave her some hope as she ripped at the fabric furiously.  _Why won't anyone help?!_

When the second cord tore itself free, the noise was almost like a cross between a bullwhip and thunder. Then, the screams began so loud they drowned out everything else. If it was Billy or her, she didn't know. Maybe both of them at the same time, since the hull had connected and trapped him under. Or perhaps it were the pirates, finally aware of what had happened. If so, they chose to rush to help somewhere else, because  _still_ not a soul came to their aid.

Time seemed to come to a halt before all hell broke loose. Emma didn't need to see it happen to know the worst came to pass, for the ship rolled upright and pitched towards her faster than before. Billy was gone in an instant, his cries now only a distant echo. Shocked, it took a few seconds to comprehend that a thick spray of blood had painted her face and chest, but once the recognition struck, her mind reeled. Arms encircled her so tightly she felt it even under the numbness and next she was yanked out of the way, a moment before  _The Benjamin_  crashed down to where she had stood.

The minutes which followed sped by in blur, a stark contrast to before, and the full weight of her emotions hit all at once. Emma wailed in horror as she flailed wildly at the chest of a yelling Hornigold, who struggled to pin her down. Despite his best efforts to try and get through to her, she could only discern the sound of her own heartbeat - loud as a cannon - over the white noise which filled her ears.

Then, as the initial shock wore off, everything became painfully clear. Her senses focused back in and the realization that they had been wrestling on the sand dawned on her. Ben accused her of insanity, said no one in their right mind would've risked their lives in such a reckless manner. Yet his words only made Emma struggle harder for freedom, eager to escape his hold.

"Lemme go!" She sobbed painfully - the way Billy's blood trickled down her in thick sticky rivulets increased the panic inside tenfold. Overwhelmed and almost hysterical, as well as smothered by the weight pressing down on her, she was driven by a single thought: the need to wash.

"Easy, girl!"

" _Please_ , I  _must_  clean!"

But his actions, as he held her tighter, spoke about his intentions even before he opened his mouth.

"Not until you've calmed."

Driven by the urgency to break free, but blocked by his constant refusal to comply, Emma felt a fury she had never experienced before. With palms open, she shoved against his chest in an attempt to dislodge him. Almost a success too, save for the last moment where Ben dug his feet deeper into the sand and using the same momentum aimed to grab hold of her wrists. Thankfully his grip was too lax due to the angle he had caught her in, which she quickly wriggled out of. In a moment fueled by a cocktail of emotions, - and pushed into the mentality of a cornered animal - she balled her fist and lashed out.

" _Get off me_!" Emma screamed with all the volume her body could muster, and then some. Ben, caught on the jaw by her punch, was finally unbalanced enough for her to scramble out from under him.

Edward rounded the beached  _Benjamin_  in a sprint just as she did the same. For a dread-filled moment, she half expected him to try and stop her, but instead, he merely stood aside with no more than an openly worried look. Then, just as she was about to disappear into the treeline, the last thing she heard was his bellowed order for Ben to ' _shut his fucking gob._ '

* * *

Emma didn't recall how she made it to the stream in that state of mind. But she was there, a blubbering mess. No amount of water eased the awful stickiness of her skin and a hand flew over her mouth lest she became ill. Once somewhat confident the contents of her stomach would stay where they belonged, she shakily tried to untie her sash, intent on getting the blood soaked shirt off. It made her skin crawl. When the knot wouldn't loosen, she began to tear at the fabric in frustration.

If he made any sound when he approached, she never heard it. Only when a hand gently grasped her by the shoulder did the comprehension she was no longer alone hit home and she jumped, startled.

"Easy, Emma." Edward pulled back instantly and his voice became softer, "It's just me."

Embarrassed by both her reaction and the state she was in, Emma turned, hands furiously wiping the tears from her face. Logically, it made no sense to feel ashamed in front of him. She wasn't a pirate in the violent sense; he was adamant she never experienced the deadly side of their endeavors. Edward always made sure she was within the safety of his cabin before they engaged in combat. Yet there she was, worried he'd think her weak.

When his touch returned, it was tentative - almost overly so. Once she didn't flinch away from the contact, his movements became more confident, and softly, he tilted her chin up so their eyes met.

"It's alright; there ain't no shame in crying."

Emma had never seen a look so gentle from him. Instead of his usual sly demeanor, Edward acted as if she had indeed endured a horrible ordeal and her reactions, regardless of their intensity, were completely justified. The gesture alone was enough to make her give way to all the distress bottled up inside, allowing tears to flow freely until a mournful sob escaped her. Without so much as a second thought, she sagged against his chest, and with her face buried into the fabric of his shirt, grieved the loss of her friend. While not exactly pleasant from a long day's worth of physical activity, his smell overrode the previously strong metallic stench of blood and granted some relief to her senses. Edward felt familiar and comfortable, which, in the heat of the moment meant safety to her; a sentiment that only became more prominent from the warmth of his embrace.

They held onto each other in silence for some time even after her wails began to subside and she had relaxed against him. One of his hands slowly caressed loose circles up and down her back, while the other bounced the locks of hair that had escaped her bun between fingers. He gave each strand the same amount of attention, curled and teased them until he coaxed a breathless half-laugh from her.

"You're tickling me."

"Hm? Where?"

But Edward knew the spot exactly - as Emma doubted he missed the previous little shuddering reactions - and brushed across the nape of her neck again. Although her heart wasn't entirely into it, she giggled somewhat into his chest, all teary sniffles and hiccups.

Once her emotions became less chaotic and she felt more confident the waterworks would not start up anew, Emma pulled back just enough so she could see his face. Edward returned the look with a patient smile, then brushed a latent tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"No mind, the cabin's crawling with unused shirts. You'll have your pick." The comment and his tone implied he had seen the efforts to rid herself of the current one. "You good then? Or shall we idle a while longer?"

While panic no longer clawed at her throat, the thought of going back to camp so soon made her anxious.

"No." Her grip tightened on his shirt for a second, before she forced herself to ease up. Still, the reaction had not gone unnoticed and when Edward tilted his head slightly in question, Emma shook hers.

"I'm sorry."

"Eh? Whatever for?"

"Not handling this very well. Not like the others...not like  _you_."

After a moment of silence, he gently pried her hands from him. "I'm not of the same mind, darlin'. But I won't begrudge you the state of yours."

The delicate pressure to her knuckles served as painful recognition that the earlier tussle had come with a price - a swollen bruise she was now acutely aware of, without any other distractions.

"Reckon nothing broke." Emma hissed when he felt along the joints to confirm his assumption and Edward snorted lightly. "Remind me to teach you how to throw a punch proper before any of my other mates catch a corker from you."

With a quick flick of the wrist, he sliced off a long piece of his sash, before rinsing it thoroughly in the stream. Once certain it was as clean as it could get, he began to delicately wrap the cloth around her hand and the coolness instantly soothed whatever ache vexed her.

Yet when his fingers didn't leave her, but rather moved to massage the muscles at the base of her palm, she found herself absorbed by the tenderness of his touch. The spark she had felt time and again was no longer just that; instead, it had somehow gathered more substance along the way. Perhaps it was their banter, or the fact he spent so much time to make sure she was alright - in the end, the  _how_  didn't matter. All Emma knew was, how unlike before, she wanted to act. The realization had snuck up completely unexpected, and with everything else on her mind, the moment didn't feel right to process it.

Hesitantly, she pulled from his grasp and wished she hadn't noticed Edward's flash of reluctance to break contact. A short glance passed between them, a silent acknowledgement that they both were aware of each other's reaction. In an effort to deflect any awkwardness, she got up from the muddy bank, then made her way to the nearest patch of grass and plonked down. It would take a while to muster the courage needed to return to camp - the thought of facing the pirates was still too much.

"Is it alright if I stay a little longer?"

The question gave Edward the perfect opportunity to leave if he so wanted; Emma even half-expected him to. But when he settled down next to her and leaned back on his elbows, - perfectly comfortable and seemingly in no rush to leave - she couldn't help an inward smile.

"So… Ade found me in a haystack after a right good kip. Accidentally drank too much in Nassau… or was it…"

" _Accidentally?_ "

He winked, smirking impishly.

"Aye, 'pon my honor."

* * *

Later, Emma sat alone next to a small fire on the outskirts of the camp, swirling around whatever goat's milk remained in her tankard. The men had given her space upon their return, and for once, the lack of attention was welcome. With work on the  _Jackdaw_  halted for some time following the incident, Edward left to oversee the rest of it, shortly after he had given her one of his spare shirts; if she thought the last one was big enough to be a good fit for two, then the new one was the size of a tent. Still, the fabric smelled faintly of him and the scent lit a comfortable warmth in her chest.

"It won't drink itself, you know." Ben's voice brought her back from the reverie with a start and she wondered why the hell the two captains were so sneaky - it's not like their thievery required stealth.

Despite the nonchalant behavior and the smile on his face, Emma couldn't quite relax around him just yet, so when she regarded him, it was with reservation.

"What can I do for you, Captain Hornigold?"

"No mistake, it's more what I can do for you," So absorbed in her suspicion of his intentions, she hadn't even noticed the bowl of broth he had brought along. "You really ought to eat, you've not touched a thing since you came back."

"Very kind of you to notice. Is it a habit of yours?"

"Not particularly, but at times one makes exceptions after regretful interactions."

That sounded awfully close to an apology and Emma arched an eyebrow slightly at the situation. What could've happened to have one of the most renowned pirates not only approach her out of his own accord, but also instigate a reconciliation? The question, if she were to ask, would more than likely not get a straight answer. If he wanted to be civil, she would return the gesture in kind, as she wasn't about to stare a gift horse in the mouth. In her position, it wouldn't end well to have any lingering animosity with other captains, so, with a polite smile, she accepted the food.

"How's the hand?"

"Painful." Emma flexed her fist carefully, but stopped with a wince when a sharp ache shot through it. "How's the face?"

Ben snorted and rubbed lightly at the bruise on his jaw. Considering how badly the punch had been botched, it still had to carry some weight to leave him as it did. Somewhat swollen, the discoloration stretched up even under his sideburns; it was obvious he had taken a stout knock to the chin.

"Could've been worse had your lad carried out his threat."

" _My lad_? Who?  _Edward_?" The expression first caused some confusion, quickly followed by a rush of anxiety. Surely Hornigold didn't try to imply she was her captain's mistress? As the sentence tumbled around her head repeatedly, she considered what else his choice of wording could've meant. But before Emma had the time to overthink and drive herself into a bit of a panic, it occurred to her that she had missed the point. "Wait, what threat? What are you talking about?"

"See, after you ran off as you did, leaving my face and my ears sore in your wake, I might've…" Ben paused and regarded her, as if to contemplate the best way to proceed. Out of the two pirates, she found the older one was much easier to read, as he tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve a lot more. " _Well, I might've_  spoken of you in an ill-chosen manner, in the heat of the moment. Your good Captain didn't half get his back up in a lick over that and flat out bloody ordered me to shut my fucking mouth, lest he clouts me good and proper."

That would explain bellows she had heard. The thought of Edward rounding on his old Privateer mate in defense of her honor made her a little fluttery. It was rather surreal, the situation, and so was her response - she shouldn't have felt quite so taken by the gesture. Yet deep down, Emma had to admit the thought held a significant allure.

Just like Ben, her reactions were also somewhat of an open book. So, it came as no surprise that she had probably given some of her thoughts away, since he gave her a crooked smile in return.

"Tell you what, lass. In our line of work, when your Captain cares about you, it can make a chasm of difference."

He had left her with a knowing wink, and the realization that his 'your lad' had possibly been a bait to satisfy his curiosity made her wary. One part of her couldn't blame him; if the tables were turned, she would've done the same to know exactly why a friend acted so protective over a newcomer. The problem was, if Ben had started to subtly pry after less than a week's worth of acquaintance, then she wondered what the  _Jackdaw_ 's crew thought. Emma's eyes drifted to the men sat around camp and regarded them prudently - only time would tell how they'd act if rumors started to fly.


	4. Chapter 4

She had finally been asleep when roused the second time. It was quiet outside, the sounds of merriment gone as the pirates had managed to exhaust themselves with drink and dance. Yet it seemed at least one of them was awake and they appeared quite keen to get to her, even if they fumbled to do so. Emma's hand instinctively moved to the dagger she kept under her pillow. When on shore, she received her own tent and the privacy she otherwise lacked. But that also put her at risk of being set upon in the middle of the night, and with another pirate crew on the island, she prayed she didn't have to shank someone to protect herself.

Except when the flaps to her tent parted, it wasn't just any old salt who staggered in, but Edward bloody Kenway - piss drunk in nothing but his shirt and breeches and visibly struggling to hold himself upright. Just a week earlier she had her 'little chat' with Hornigold. Since then, Emma became increasingly observant of how they acted around each other. The midnight visit would've been inappropriate on its own had he not become progressively physical with her; a touch to the hand, a pat on the shoulder, a subtle flick to the locks of hair which escaped her bun. Not that she wasn't guilty of the same, as she reciprocated in kind, especially favoring small playful shoves when they cracked wise. Billy's death had pitched them into another level of comfort, one which held more intimacy than they shared before.

Still, despite the enjoyment their interactions brought her, Emma wanted to dodge any gossip. Something that would be hard to manage if he was seen with her at night.

" _Edward!_ " She hissed quietly when he grinned upon spotting her. "You know you're in the wrong place, right?"

Instead of a reply, he set out to cross the tent, too confident in his ability to walk in his inebriated state. Oblivious to the boots she had discarded haphazardly before bed, he tripped and dropped like a sack of sugar onto her bedroll with a loud thud.

"I'm fine…it's fine…I – I was just,  _uh_ …" Edward paused then patted the ground, "Lying on the floor."

Awfully proud at what he considered a good save, he beamed. Emma sighed and sat up.

"How much did you have to drink?"

"A li'le." With a cheerful laugh, he scooted closer and then his tongue snaked out to wet his lips. "Am still thirsty, t – though."

"I wasn't aware you drank booze to quench that, you swill tub."

Luckily for him, she made a habit to keep a flask of water by her cot. After some elaborate maneuvers, as well as some help from her, he managed to uncork it. Edward drank greedily, fat droplets of water dripping down his chin and onto his chest, only to be soaked up by his shirt. He noticed that too, after he was done and frowned, then began to tug at the barely wet garment.

"I - I don't like it…like this."

"It's ain't even that bad," Emma rubbed the tiny patch of damp fabric, in the hope that if he felt it against his skin, he'd realize it too. "See?"

However, for a moment he seemed distracted from whatever grievances the spilled water caused since her touch had all of his attention. Gracelessly, Edward patted her hand, then took it in his own. Calloused and surprisingly warmer than expected, she fell silent while she watched him investigate the intruding limb.

" _Soft!_ " Compared to his, quite likely so. The simple observation was uttered with such conviction, it almost sounded like he was having a revelation. But then his gaze travelled upwards, and came to settle on her hair - unpinned for bed and cascading freely down onto her shoulders. With an awestruck expression, his fingers began their journey up her arm towards their new goal, only to never arrive; Edward missed repeatedly, as he grasped clumsily at the air next to her head.

"Uh… th–there's one–one of you or… two…? Tw–two of, two of, two of you… uh… yeah…"

Emma bit back a laugh. She had heard from some of the crew that their captain was rather erratic when sloshed, but it was another thing to experience it. Truth be told, there was a certain charm to him in that state, one she would've almost called adorable - a description which, if said to him when sober, would probably get her a scoff and an unamused 'piss off.'

" _Tak_ ' _it_  off!"

"Sorry? Take what off?" Surely he didn't mean her hair?

" _This!_  It's wet a-and I-I don't want i-it."

Without a pause to give her time to react, Edward began to pull the shirt over his head, his hair coming undone into a mess in the process. It appeared the men were right; his attention span was unpredictable to say the least, since he bounced from one thought to the other continuously and seemingly without connection. After a struggle which only left him stuck, Emma guided him to freedom from the prison of his cuffs, then wiped his chest dry to dispel whatever sensory illusion he might've had.

"Better now?" She folded his shirt with a smile and put it aside for later. Yawning, he nodded in reply.

"You really ought to rest, Edward. You're pure done in."

"Aah, tried to. Bloody quiet i-in the...uh...tent." With a finger to his lips, he began to shush - who she thought was no one in particular at first - and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "C-Cork it before you say y-you... you can't hear her...b-breathe.  _Shhhh_. It's fine. Fine."

Both flattered and amused, Emma was glad he was too tanked to notice the color to her cheeks. Alcohol fuelled the confession, that much was obvious, yet she couldn't shake the memory of the conversation with Captain Hornigold, nor how their interaction had evolved. The question was, then, did Edward voice his thoughts more freely under the influence of rum - if the smell wafting from him was any indication of his choice of drink - or did he just speak absolute nonsense out of his arse?

Truthfully, she had two choices. On the one hand, Emma could fall back into the years of propriety marriage had ingrained in her and ask him to leave. On the other, however, she could give into the moment. Torn, she thought back to the seven years spent as Missus Munro- a straight laced woman who had avoided even the faintest whiff of scandal and performed her duties diligently. But that wasn't who she felt she was. The wedding band came with a role she accepted for the good of her family; a costume worn so often and for so long it had diluted her true personality. Yet there was still enough of it left for her to want to throw caution to the wind, ignore nervousness, and act. Edward was fun, a lot more than her always serious husband had been, and she enjoyed herself in his company. She was already a pirate technically, she might as well try something risqué for once.

"Stay then."

Edward stared at her intently in what she guessed was his attempt to try and think past the booze-induced haze. For what seemed like a minute or two, he made no move. Then, ever so slowly, he lifted from his spot on the ground and sat onto the edge of her bedroll. Despite the state he was in, there appeared to be enough clarity in him to understand the sensitivity of the situation.

Tentatively, but entirely emboldened by his reaction to her invitation, Emma reached out and gingerly caressed across his cheek. When he turned his head to press more of his skin into her touch, she swore her heart would explode from hammering so fast. In an attempt to hide the excitement the positive reaction had brought out in her, she scooted back and gestured at the empty space beside her on the cot.

With a slight sway, Edward kicked his boots to the side and followed her lead. At first, he tried to settle on his back, like he usually rested in their cabin. No such luck, since now his fidgeting was worse, and soon he rolled to his side to drunkenly assess the space available to maneuver. Emma opened her mouth to comment, but the thought process was interrupted when he propped up on an elbow and hovered over her, one arm hesitantly thrown over her waist.

He waited some seconds for her objections and when none came, he scooted closer, then ungracefully plonked himself down on his belly with his head coming to rest on her shoulder.

Taken off guard by his sheer lack of inhibition, she froze as she was, arms awkwardly hovering in mid air around him. Not what she had expected, clearly, but Edward settled as if they shared the same position many times before. But with how warm he felt against her - almost shockingly so - Emma found that once the initial surprise wore off, she wasn't at all opposed to the situation.

Once the admission had been made, her body relaxed and her hands lowered gently onto him; one coming to rest in his hair, while the other found its place on her own stomach. Seemingly content, he finally began to quiet. But in an attempt to get comfortable herself, her fingers accidentally brushed against his side. After a sharp jerk and a string of unintelligible whines, Edward attempted to grab hold of her wrist, unsuccessfully.

"Are you ticklish?" Emma decided it was no use to try and hide the absolute delight the discovery had brought her. It was the first chink in his armor she had found, one that could be used to tease him mercilessly...if she was mean enough.

_Was she?_

_Oh, absolutely._

"Edward," With a playful croon and the wiggle of her fingers along his ribs, she sent him into another fit of spasm. "Are you?"

"Aye, b-but I...I ain't tellin'  _you_  that."

In a rush of bravado, and following a hearty guffaw at his reply, Emma launched another attack contra his exposed vulnerability with an impish smirk. Yet despite his state, he appeared to be aware that she would push her luck given the opportunity. Surprisingly nimble, he dodged her touch, then quickly nipped at her jaw in retaliation. The tables turned as it was her turn to yelp while Edward snickered devilishly, his breath hot against the crook of her neck.

Resisting the urge to carry on with his harassment, she let off and he relaxed back against her after a few strokes to his hair.

"You're mean," He muttered under his breath, already half asleep. Perhaps it was the drink or his favored position that enabled him to doze off so quickly, and when he spoke again, she could barely make out what was said - but Emma swore it was along the lines of 'I like it.'

As she lay there with a smile, it occurred to her she felt no regret over the decision to ask him to stay. The pirates would more than likely talk, regardless of what happened. And for once, she chose to have fun.


	5. Chapter 5

A good night's sleep proved a rare commodity after Billy's death. If it wasn't nightmares, then it was dreams of the lad still being around; one way or another, her brain refused to let her move on. While Emma didn't wake with a start, panicked she was back under  _The Benjamin,_ she felt weighed down and her head throbbed as if a few flagons too many had gone down. With rapid blinks to force her vision to clear, she ignored the burning sensation in her eyes. Perhaps it would've been a good idea to join the men in their guzzling and merriment. At least the exhaustion and rum would've then kept her thoughts at bay.

"Morning."

For a moment the voice startled her. Then, the events of the previous night flooded back, and she turned her head to greet a drowsy Edward. Still in mostly the same place that he fell asleep in, the only change to his position was the slight shift of his head in an attempt to get a better view of her. His features were guarded and she wondered if there was any displeasure with where he had woken, or if he even remembered what had happened. But he was under no obligation to stay and wait on her to rouse, so she took his presence as a good sign.

"Sleep well?" Emma smiled briefly, her voice composed despite the pang of anxiety in her stomach. It was easier to be brave in a tent only lit by a single candle, with a man so sauced he couldn't tell his arse from his face - but now he was sober, and the rise of the sun awakened the echoes of her worries. In truth, she had no idea how he would react.

Edward moved the arm he had draped over her waist and scratched through his beard, humming in affirmation. He propped himself up on an elbow, then abruptly stopped.

"Yeah, was alright until I moved."

With a groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose and looked like he struggled with dizziness. A wave of amusement momentarily overpowered any other concern. After a few seconds of squinting, he yawned lazily and his eyes traveled the length of her body. Despite his hangover, Edward wasn't hard on the eyes in his disheveled state, all bare chested and tangled mane around his shoulders.

While his attention was on their still entwined legs, she enjoyed the brief opportunity to take in the sight of him without notice.

"Well…" Edward's voice pulled her out of her reverie and when his gaze landed on her face again, her features gave no hint of her thoughts. "One of the better places I've woken up."

Emma's heart sank.

"You don't remember what happened?"

The reply didn't come straight away. With eyes squinted slightly in concentration, he regarded her keenly. She knew that look; he was weighing his next words with care.

"Most of it, I reckon." She wondered exactly which parts were foggy given how cautious he sounded.

"Assuming there's a 'but' in there somewhere."

His expression became almost impossible to read. " _But_  I'm told my tongue tends to loosen when I reacquaint with the bottle."

Inadvertently an answer was given to the question from the previous night and from the horse's mouth itself; it seemed Edward under the influence, although erratic, actually became more honest when not incomprehensibly muttering.

Propriety would've dictated that she move on, let the topic go. But common sense at times was put on the back burner in favor of other things, curiosity being one of them. Parts of her already suspected he might've taken a shine to her, their interactions after Emma mended his shoulder at least gave that impression. All in all, the uncertainty over the past weeks had grown bothersome. Yet, subtlety wasn't exactly her forte, so in lieu of a better idea, she settled on teasing; the conversation could then be steered in directions to perhaps satisfy her inquisitiveness.

"Do I," She started, her voice playful. "Breathe loudly at night?"

Edward stared for a moment, confused, but then his eyes narrowed. It was not the reaction she had hoped for, as he remained quiet and instead of playing along, Emma watched him stifle a yawn. The bait stayed where it was, untaken.

That wouldn't do.

"Will I get poetry the next time you stumble into my tent hammered?"

At that his attention snapped back to her with a sharp look. She didn't buy the firmness in it; it was too lackluster to be genuine.

"Don't push your luck,  _Scotland_."

"Wouldn't dream of it..." For a split second, Emma considered whether her intended retort was perhaps too cheeky. However, it was not often she had the upper hand, since it was usually him who came out on top during their banter. So with the want to best him kept in mind, she finished her reply.

"... _Wales_."

She grinned, and Edward glared. They held those expressions until his eyes began to roam around the tent and when his gaze focused on her once more, his brows furrowed slightly. The deadpan look on his face slowly turned into something else, and only when he spoke she came to realize it was concern. "You look knackered."

"I could sleep for a week, t'be fair."

With a thoughtful hum, he lay back down. "Don't reckon I can give you that much, but I could go for another kip myself. I've got a head for ten."

Fully expecting him to scoot further away now that sober, Emma - somewhat surprised - watched him fold his shirt to use as padding on her shoulder, and unabashedly returned to the same position he fell asleep in the night before. Then, with a complacent huff, Edward settled.

He seemed to drift off faster than she could've predicted and the blatant use of her body as a pillow opened an opportunity for another jab.

"Comfortable, am I?"

Once again, the reception she had hoped for didn't come. It made no sense, previously when they teased, he never missed a cue to give as good as he got. But now, he made no move; it was as if she hadn't said a word.  _Was something the matter?_

"Edward..." Emma crooned the same as she did the night before. As a final effort, her fingers danced along the side of his ribs, only to get no results  _again_. "Auch, stop being such a bore."

The look he gave her only lasted a second, yet it sent a shiver down her spine. A slow and entirely calculative smirk crossed his lips when their eyes met, and before she even had the chance to open her mouth, it was gone. Edward's face relaxed, his breathing calmed, and she found herself with the realization that she might've made a huge mistake.


	6. Chapter 6

For once, she had slept like a log. The pressure to her head had vanished; it was as if those few extra hours proved more restful than the entire past week combined. To not think of Billy was incredibly difficult. Every moment spent not otherwise occupied became a walk down memory lane, and more often than not, those same thoughts followed her to bed as well. It didn't matter whether the recollections were pleasant or otherwise, the tears which resulted were the same. Distractions were helpful, and Edward had provided in abundance in the wake of the tragedy. Regardless of the friendly interaction between them, assuming it was a deliberate effort on his part to ease her mind would've been perhaps a little too presumptuous. Still, any second spent out of the grasp of guilt, grief, and sorrow, were welcome.

Upon shifting in position, she noticed Edward had thrown a leg over her. Somehow, she had found herself half-straddled, and with enough of his weight on her, she was effectively pinned down.

"Oh, rot." Emma sighed quietly. The time spent sharing his cabin taught her that he wasn't a particularly deep sleeper, often roused by the smallest disturbance. Given how her attempts for freedom were likely to be a far cry from subtle, he probably would've woken. The position he lay in made it easy for her to take a good look at him; with his mouth slightly open and his face twitching periodically as he dreamt, Edward seemed entirely mellow. It exposed a side that was not often seen, compared to the role of the always-on-the-move, quick-witted, spit-fire captain most knew him as. Being privy to such a treat, she decided to stay a while longer.

Their friendship was unexpected, almost effortless at times, and Emma felt grateful for the new level of coziness between them.

Edward shifted, his hand coming to rub at a fresh mosquito bite on the bridge of his nose. Dissatisfied with the lack of relief, he mumbled, unintelligible but clearly annoyed, and tried again. That time around, his actions were more purposeful. She bit back a giggle as she watched him struggle to ease the itch, his skin flushed under the ministration of his fingers. Once happy with the results of his work, he stilled as if nothing had happened.

It didn't feel appropriate to describe a pirate as cute - especially one of his reputation - but for the second time in less than a day, she found herself thinking of him as such. Try as she might, she couldn't suppress a faint ' _aww_ ', and the next thing she knew, Edward smirked.

"Ah, cheers, love. It comes natural."

Since his eyes were still closed, he missed her grimace.  _Of course_ ,  _it does_. It wouldn't have been him to pass up a chance to stroke his own ego and use her cock up to his advantage. Emma cursed inwardly, the devious smile before he fell asleep became clear - he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

"And modest, too."

An uninspired retort, even by her standards. Truthfully, she should've known it was too easy earlier when he made no move to respond to her heckles, and now, it was time to pay up.

"Mmhm." Edward finally met her gaze, more alert than expected.  _Shite_ , she thought.  _How long has he been awake for?_

"Seen something you fancy?"

Emma scoffed and ignored the triumphant look on his face which transformed his smirk into a completely self-satisfied grin. He was proficient when it came to finding the chink in someone's armor, but she was going to put up a fight regardless.

"Oh behave, as if I'd care for a man who struts about like the cock of the walk."

With his eyes still on her, he sat up, looking positively wolfish. Edward had her exactly where he wanted; on the defensive.

"Admit it, Scotty." He quipped, "You like the walk of this cock."

Unexpected was an understatement. Not only did he have a mock-name for her, but to make it worse, he had derived a nickname from it too. For a few seconds she could only gape, aware of the heat that crept up her neck and spread out across her cheeks. Hook, line, and sinker; he went straight for the throat.

She was about to muster up a reply when the loud chatter coming from outside registered for both of them. Edward's cockiness vanished as he eyed the flap of the tent silently. It never occurred to her they might've slept in too long, convinced the pirates would only rise after noon.

"Sounds like all of 'em." Emma kept her voice casual, eager to steer the conversation in another direction. Thankfully, he let it go without a word, only the faint curve to his lips a sign he was aware of her plan.

"Aye, we took a while."

They dressed together in lazy silence. After adjusting her breeches, she leisurely tightened the laces as Edward slipped his shirt over his head and passed her sash on. While she was yet to bunk without being fully clothed, it wasn't the first time they had helped each other get ready in the morning. There was sense of freedom from inhibition to the act after so many months of shared cabin space. A familiarity which made her not give a second thought to seeing him scratch his groin out of the corner of her eye.

"Reckon the tent pin is loose enough to be pulled up. Can slip out through there." At the sight of her confusion, he nodded towards the sounds outside. "The lads will talk."

Emma didn't need to be told what the men would think, was acutely aware of it from the moment he had staggered in the previous night. Yet one thing Billy's death had taught her was that life as a pirate was unpredictable, and sometimes tragically short; she knew there was already at least some gossip aboard. Neither of them could dodge that, no matter how keen Edward seemed all of a sudden.

In an attempt to hide her emotions, she averted her gaze and told him to do as he saw best.

"Hey," He forced her to look at him, his face gentle. "It's your good name I don't want to muck up."

" _Oh rot_ , hang my bloody reputation! I'm a widow, not a maiden; I willingly signed on with pirates, and I've been sharing your cabin for Lord knows how many damn months…Some of your wee baw bags already think we've been shaggin' from the day I set foot on your ship, anyway."

The outburst had taken them both off guard. It was not how Emma had planned to deliver her thoughts, and she bit her lip in regret over the unnecessary aggressiveness. So much had happened over the past six months, crammed into a short period of time, it had exploded out of her. In the space of one day, her life had gone from pootling along as a poor seamstress, - where her previous concerns didn't even come close to the ones she currently had - to technically a pirate. And while the choice was hers, the journey had not been easy. Still wasn't. The periodic snide comments, and the knowledge the crew might never come to fully accept her was simpler to stomach than the deliberate intent to spread rumors some of them had. That, she was unaccustomed to, as well as the violent loss of a friend. Through all of those, Edward had been a somewhat stable point, someone who Emma thought might actually genuinely like her. So his offer to sneak out to not be seen with her was... unpleasant.

Perhaps she had mistaken their interaction for something more than it was. It wouldn't have been a surprise, her marriage was arranged, an agreement between two clans to strengthen ties - there was no courting involved. But even if it had been otherwise, Emma reckoned etiquette was not the same around pirates. She wished to just outright ask, to alleviate her confusion, but despite her romantic inexperience knew that was not how it was done. Especially if his gestures were taken the wrong way, she could possibly be thrown off the ship.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to raise my voice."

When he got to his feet and sighed, Emma's chest tightened. While he certainly had good qualities, Edward was a selfish man. It was hard not to notice. Yet he had shown her kindness from the very start when he wasn't obliged to, and while she had no idea what his true intentions were towards her, she felt like she threw all of that back in his face.

Absorbed in her thoughts, she tugged firmly on her boots, silently listing all the things she wished to have the courage to say out loud _; I'm sorry if I misunderstood how you behaved with me, but t'be fair it was hard not to. I only ever signed up to be your ship's cook. It was_ you  _who instigated everything. The talks, the banter, the sharing of your cabin. It was_ you  _who came after me when I was hysterical and covered in blood. It was_ you  _who threatened to punch Hornigold in my defense. It was_ you  _who stumbled into my tent in the middle of the night because_ you  _couldn't sleep without hearing me breathe._ Emma grimaced bitterly.  _And now, I cocked it all up_.  _By your leave, then, Captain._

His voice startled her out of her brooding.

"You hungry?"

Surprised he didn't take off as expected, she regarded him with reservation. Edward tucked his shirt messily into his breeches, then, with what appeared to be a genuine half-smile, met her gaze — the most conceivable ' _apology accepted_ ' she was likely to get.

"Yes. Famished, actually." Emma replied politely and took his hand out of courtesy, allowing him to help her up. It was attentive of him, but it only added to the confusion. It would've been easier if he just left. At least then, she could've had a better idea where they stood. His willingness to leave together, however, threw her off completely.

She let go of his hand to begin the short routine of making herself presentable. With a few swift pats, Emma dusted her breeches off and straightened her shirt, then rolled up the cuffs. Pinning her hair up into a tight bun allowed a moment of relief from the stuffy heat.

Edward waited patiently, his gaze lazily following the movement of her fingers. She noticed his eyes come to a halt and focus, but before a question could leave her lips, he reached out to brush a dry blade of grass from her locks. Surprised by the gesture, Emma began to thank him, only to be cut short by the impressively long growl of her stomach.

A cheeky grin broke out on his face after he laughed.

"I'll say. Weren't lying about the famished part."

It was hard not to share his amusement, and the tension between them deflated somewhat. Still smiling, he nodded towards the flap.

"We best leave before you devour me."

* * *

They had barely set foot outside when the noise hit them like a wall. Some of the  _Jackdaw_ 's crew had exploded in celebration, while others reacted with less enthusiasm. The majority, however, either barely spared them a glance, or looked outright put off. Hornigold's men were more vocal with their opinions, yet all were unified in jeers and harsh comments. As she listened to the different kinds of reception, Edward's insistence on taking the lead made much more sense. He stood by her side but slightly ahead, which was enough to force the men's attention mainly on him. From that angle, Emma could see enough of his face to gauge his reactions. She caught Hornigold inquisitively raise his eyebrows, to which Edward had responded with a shrug and a cocksure smirk — he seemed to be taking it  _all_  in good humor.

Emma felt bewildered. The quiet whispers and judging looks she had expected. The whoops, hollers, and laughs which filled the air were an entirely different matter. Over the raucous noise she heard someone shout, " _Finally_! Jack, you owe me 100 bloody Reales!"

_There was betting? On what?_ , she thought, unsure what to make of the new information.

"Took you two long enough!"

_Long enough? Wha-…_  She gasped audibly as the penny dropped. They didn't only think the two of them were already intimate; they were  _waiting_  to catch them.

The sharp intake of breath was loud enough to make Edward turn to look at her. Instinctively, she moved to grab hold of his hand again, but when their gazes met, she stopped. The act would've been too private for a public setting.

Taking a step closer to her, he quietly asked, "You all right?"

"There was a bet!" Emma whispered sharply, glad the pirates were too busy with their coin to pay attention to them.

He winced.

"Wait, you  _knew_?!"

As her voice had gotten louder, he glanced sideways, worried someone might have heard.

"I was aware of a wager going around that involved you,  _but_  I didn't want to get in on that."

"Bloody hell, why not?! We could've made so much money off these bastards!"

Edward paused for a second, clearly surprised. But then a smile slowly crept across his face, - the widest she had ever seen on him - it was as though Emma had just given him the location to the Observatory he kept rambling on about.

"I've half a mind to make you Quartermaster," he winked cheekily.

"Ah yes," She rolled her eyes much to his amusement. "Create me problems with Adéwalé, too."

With a sigh to what could have been, Emma excused herself. After a few quick steps, he caught up and they walked together before splitting - Edward headed for his tent, and she towards the spring for a quick wash. Between  _The Benjamin_ 's cook and the left-overs from the previous night, the men were well fed. That gave her some time to do whatever she wanted, a welcome relief from her duties. Since Billy's death she had often been low on energy due to restless nights, something the the crew had started to pick up on.

Just as her mind began its vicious circle again, a brash yell put a stop to it.

"Oi, fancy-man! Kenway! How much for your strumpet? I'd rather like a go with her, or does she only turn her tricks on the  _Jackdaw_?"

Hornigold's crew got loud once more, and she heard others join in to demand a go with her. By the time Emma turned around, the  _Jackdaw_ 's pirates had stopped what they were doing. For a few seconds all eyes were on the lecherous men before their attention shifted to Edward, who stood seemingly unfazed by the comment in the entryway to his tent.

Except she saw the way his fingers drummed against the side of his thighs; a sign that he was struggling to keep his anger in check. Emma tensed. She didn't want him to start a brawl, even if they would've deserved it.

When he finally spoke, every syllable was precise and cut like a blade.

"And I'd rather like to cut out your tongue and feed it to you if you ever speak of my cook like that again _, mate._ " The entire intensity of his aggression was loaded on the last word, which sounded far more threatening than anything else said. His gaze then settled on her before he added, "and I'll even let her prepare it for you."

All heads turned towards her in union, staring expectantly. As was custom on his ship, Edward had stepped aside for her to deliver the final blow after he stood up for her as Captain. It was an individual show of strength, as well as an act of unification - something he had done many times before with other crew members too, she had seen it. And now, it was her turn.

Emma squared her shoulders.  _Oh Lord_ ,  _no pressure whatsoever._

"The only thing I'll be turning is your tongue on the fire before I shove it down your throat. God knows it'll be more enjoyable for me that way."

Wilson, one of the  _Jackdaw_ 's lookouts, was the first to jump up - thankfully, too. She felt the retort fell short due to nerves.

"Fuckin' right, love. You tell 'im!"

The camp erupted in more applause than she expected. Hornigold winked impishly at her before he stuck two fingers between his lips and let forth a sharp whistle; his following cheers louder than any of the other men's.

Emma watched as what she thought would be a failure get an entirely different response. Pride swelled in her chest. It was the first time a lot of the crew had reacted to anything she had done with definite positivity. Even if they only did it to cover for their own, that would mean they thought of her as such.

She turned to Edward and received a subtle applause, to which she gave an equally modest courtsey.

"When you two are done makin' eyes at each other," Wilson's shout interrupted their exchange, "come sit with us, Fraser."

With her plan to wash forgotten, Emma started towards the party. Unsure how to react to the invitation, she made a point to seem casual. There was little need for it, however, since the men were too caught up pulling their captain's leg to notice her hesitance. The pirates sat closest to his tent were the ones he was friendliest with - his inner circle.

"You sound a bit green, mate. You fancy I made them at you instead?"

Smithy, the surgeon's mate chimed in, "Is that an admission of guilt, then, Captain?"

The others in the group, including Adéwalé, guffawed. Edward rolled his eyes and called back over his shoulder as he entered his tent.

"I don't flog my crew, but I might make an exception for you bastards."

* * *

Emma sat quietly while the men around her chatted away and ate, eager to savor their last hours before sailing again. While she didn't actively take part in the discussion, the company was enjoyable - albeit unexpected. Previously those very pirates had done little more than greet her. Yet the invitation to join them made a nice change from being merely tolerated.

"Right, lads," Jacobs, the boatswain, stood to excuse himself. "I've got work to do before we weigh anchor."

The conversation died down for a few minutes after his departure while the group finished their meals. However, it wasn't long until Wilson's gaze settled on Emma.

"So," He started with a huge grin on his face. "You and the Captain, 'ey? Don't doubt you gave him a good run for his money, love."

At the sight of the blush that crept across her cheek, he gave her a knowing wink.

"Bloody marvellous!" Wilson laughed heartily. "Say no more."

"Hang on a minute, do say more." Emma looked at Smithy, dreading what the surgeon's mate had to say. She doubted they would let her off without getting some jabs in. "You still  _Miss Emmaline Fraser_ then, or should we start callin' you Mistress Kenway?"

The way she had first introduced herself had become somewhat of a running joke on the  _Jackdaw_ , but in the moment, it was not what preoccupied her. Flustered, her mind thought back to the confusion she felt before they came out of her tent. She still had no idea what was going on between them, - if anything - but the men had put her on the spot, and expected an answer. It would've been easier to know if Edward wanted to feed the rumor, or just ignore it until it died down.

"Sod that, who cares if she's the mistress?" Jack's voice cut her thoughts short. He was one of the ship's riggers and usually the first to break into shanties; a jaunty fellow who, unlike the rest, seemed completely uninterested in her private life. "As long as she's not gettin' an extra cut now that she's cozy with the Capt'n."

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Caught up in a chain of events she had little control over, her annoyance flared. Tired of riding the winds of Edward's vague leadership in a story she was heavily involved in, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

The sight of him emerging from his tent only added fuel to the fire. Her eyes stayed on him while she spoke, her voice loud enough for him to hear.

"The only extra I'm getting is the Captain's cock. If you're envious of  _that_ , I'm sure we can secure you a share."

Edward looked like he wished he had joined the conversation earlier. The surprise on his face only lasted a second before he was forced to improvise. Unfortunately for the rigger, he decided to play along with her by giving him a coy wink and then pretended to unbuckle the belt which held up his breeches.

"Fuck's sake. Captain's at it again." Smithy groaned, ignoring how Jack had blown Edward a kiss in return.

"Christ, Fraser, you've got him so randy he's pullin' a knife on everyone." Wilson's comment was the one that broke the camel's back, sending the group into a fit of laughter. But beyond amused, she also felt openly smug and would've lied if she said the sight of Edward squirming didn't please her.

* * *

Over the following half hour the crew packed up the camp. There was little left to do except wait to get back onto the ship, so she regrouped with the men she had eaten with and sat down.

"Captain!" One of their sailors approached them. "Ev'rythin's loaded into the boats and ready to row. What should I do next?"

"Go talk to Murray, see if he needs help with anything else."

Emma raised an eyebrow. During her time on the  _Jackdaw,_ she had come to know everyone - even if they didn't want it to happen. Yet no matter how hard she thought, she couldn't put a face to the name.

"Who's Murray?"

Edward closed his eyes and sighed, which made her wonder if perhaps she shouldn't have opened her mouth.

"Charles Murray is Jacobs' real name." The answer, coupled with the pained look on his face, only made her confusion grow.

"But…" She started, hesitant. "Then why does everyone call him Jacobs?"

Before anyone could reply, Adéwalé lifted his hands as if to say ' _don't get me involved_ ' and sat further away from their group. Emma, now genuinely concerned, looked at the others. Everyone, with the exception of Edward, was smirking.

"Fair question." Smithy said, oozing sarcasm, "Why do we?"

"We've got two  _massive_  reasons." Wilson chimed in as he passed, headed towards the rowboats lining the beach.

Her bewilderment lasted until Smithy lowered his hands in front of his groin and pretended to cup his testicles, his tongue clicking. Then, he was gone too and she wished she had never asked in the first place. Edward smiled sympathetically and gave her shoulder a light pat before he excused himself in a hurry.

_How convenient_ , Emma thought,  _they all suddenly realized they had jobs to do, them massi-_  She cringed at the word.  _Fantastic. I'll never be able to unthink this._

"Don't worry, lass, at least you didn't 'ave to see 'em." Jack crouched down beside her, his voice soft like when he narrated stories to the crew. "Y'see, when Murray first came aboard, he'd always wear this bloody kilt - bein' a Scotsman an' all. The men got sick of seein' his bits every time the wind blew, so the Captain, in his infinite wisdom, told the man to take it off." He paused for dramatic effect, but Emma could already tell where he was headed.

"And, he did. Right there, on the deck. Next thing we hear is fuckin' Wilson shoutin' from the lookout's post in all his Cockney magnificence, 'Fuck me, look at the size of his jacobs! I can see 'em from up 'ere!' We're all better off his kilt got turned into his sash."

* * *

"And that was the day the crew nearly mutinied against Edward." Adéwalé said as they walked down to the beach together. Seeing the length of the line to the rowboats, Emma decided to stop and wait instead. Sailors of higher ranks could easily weasel their way across without hassle - something she couldn't do, even if she wanted to.

The thought of going back onto the  _Jackdaw_ made her somewhat apprehensive. Her privacy on the island, while limited, was a far cry from what she had on the ship. She wondered if the day's events would create tension with those who were still eager to be rid of her; they were no doubt unhappy with the prospect of her cozy with the captain.

"What's bothering you?"

Emma felt a little bad she never noticed he decided to wait with her. There was something warm and reassuring about Adéwalé that inspired trust, a trait which made him good at his role as Quartermaster. It was in everyone's best interest if the crew was content, something he meticulously checked up on. It seemed it was her turn to be looked after, although she felt more uncertain than dissatisfied.

"I wouldn't really say bother," Emma paused as she searched for the right words. "I just don't understand why some are acting different with me."

"It's because of Billy." When he saw she didn't understand, he went on to explain with a smile. "You risked your life to save him."

"But I failed."

"True. But you  _tried_. You nearly died with him that day, trying to save him as you did. The men appreciate that, it paints you in a different light. Not as an outsider, but as one of them."

"Not everyone appears to think that way."

Adéwalé waved his hand in dismissal.

"You are a woman serving on a ship, that is a disadvantage. Maybe one day sailors won't be superstitious. You have managed to endear yourself to a few of the crew, and there are many others who are now more open to accept your  _place_. Take it from me, there are people you will never be able to please."

"But you're loved here."

"There is still the odd look from time to time.  _Especially_  as Quartermaster. Some don't think I should be on the ship, least hold my position. It is just in their nature."

Emma fell silent. For all their talk of freedom, some pirates only rejected laws and traditions which held them back personally. If they weren't hindered, they didn't care. She hoped Adéwalé was right; perhaps one day it would be different.

"How do you deal with it?"

He smiled again.

"Ignore it. And when their opinion of me gets in the way of their duty, I deal with them accordingly."

She supposed it was the best deal he could get, given the circumstances. It was also sound advice, one she would follow if the situation called for it. Although, Emma doubted their predicaments could ever be truly compared. if she decided to leave the  _Jackdaw_ , her life would be less limited than if Adéwalé did the same.

They stood in silence for a while, watching the boats row to and fro.

"What happened to Billy was not your fault, Miss Fraser."

Caught off guard, she didn't know how to reply at first. Given the state she had been in, someone was bound to approach her about it. So, it wasn't so much the topic that surprised her, but his directness. He didn't like to dance around issues, she had gathered that much.

"I cut him loose that day." She hated how weak her voice got when she thought of the lad. "He was quite taken with the work the men were doing. So I told him to go and enjoy himself. Had I…"

"Had you kept him on it would have been someone else." Adéwalé cut her short. "The ship was not secured well. It could have rolled over and killed more. This is on those who did not do their jobs as they should have.  _Not you_."

There was truth to his words. The realization that more people may have been killed hit her in the gut. She refused to feel fortunate they only lost one, and for a moment, Emma contemplated how different it would've been if one of Ben's crew had died. Guilt followed the thought; not on account of the notion itself but because she  _didn't_ feel ashamed of it.

_If we didn't lose anyone,_  she thought,  _then it wouldn't feel like I'm the only one who still cares._

"The worst part of it is how everyone moved on so quickly. I can't do that. He mattered to me."

"He mattered to us all." Adéwalé replied with conviction. "But at sea even a moment of distraction can kill us. So we deal with grief in other ways."

He nodded towards the boat arriving to pick up the last of them. They started together quietly, both deep in thought. The words to ask how he dealt with loss didn't come readily. It almost felt too personal to ask - nigh on inappropriate. But he had beaten her to it, because just before they were within earshot of the remaining pirates, he turned to look at her one last time.

"I say a silent prayer for them. I like to think they are in a better place now."

Emma considered the idea, and found it wouldn't hurt her if she tried to reconnect with her faith.


	7. Chapter 7

Edward had planned to take prizes for some time before stopping to dock in Nassau. The pirates received the news with a round of applause, everyone eager to see action once again. The weeks that followed brimmed with combat.

For the first few days, they took any ship that came into view. Nearly all lowered their flag after the _Jackdaw_ ’s show of cannons, and those who didn’t soon came to experience the prowess of an overly equipped brig. She had no idea how they managed to stay afloat with so much weaponry, let alone be as fast as they were; not that she would complain about the ingenuity of forty-six guns worked into a ship that was supposed to carry eighteen at the most. It made most fights relatively short.

The crew worked around the clock to sort and store all the cargo they had acquired. Ammunition and arms were seized to restock and replace as required. Food was taken to maintain supplies, alcohol to be either sold or kept. Along with everything else they could get their hands on, the men made sure the _Jackdaw_ was always in good working order. With Adéwalé’s words still at the forefront of her mind, Emma went out of her way to pull her weight. She had begun to keep detailed inventory so when a prize was taken, she could cross over to see if the captured ship had any of the items they needed.

In an attempt to integrate with the crew as much as possible, she refused to cower in the captain’s cabin at the first sign of conflict. When Edward tried to argue, she cut him short and insisted he let her work as expected. The steep-tub, along with anything else in the galley that could fly around, needed to be secured, and the stove covered. No more accidents and injuries from objects sailing across the hold when the ship shook -- that was for the cook to prevent. In order to solidify her position against any complaints, there had to be no special treatment beyond where she bunked.

He finally agreed after Emma promised she’d head down into the hold once everything was taken care of. Sacks of sugar provided adequate cushioning and protection against the odd mistargeted cannon ball. Soon, she fell into the new routine, and gave those who objected to her presence less to nitpick at. The grumbles were still there, many unhappy with her increased workload, but overall, that was also the security she needed to solidify her position.

After a couple of weeks spent raiding smaller vessels, they came across their first frigate since the island. The _Conde de Tolosa_ sailed under Spanish colors, which usually meant a fight -- the Spaniards too proud to give in without at least some resistance.

It was difficult to say what exactly was going on from below deck, but once the battle was over, the crew were eager to fill in the blanks. For a while, only the enemy had attacked. The two ships circled around each other, something Emma could discern from the sharp tilt, not just of the oil lamp hung from a beam, but the _Jackdaw_ itself. Beyond the few commands given by Ade here and there, the pirates were mostly quiet; vocally, at least. Sounds of work were easy to make out, but it still wasn’t the usual atmosphere. When they took a prize, they got loud and the uncharacteristic silence unnerved her.

Spanish cannon balls whizzed past time and again, only to hit the water with a dreadful sound -- some too close for comfort compared to others. Edward maneuvered remarkably and dodged all attacks until a round of fire actually landed, catching them in the stern. A tactical decision, she later found out, as the impact was used to aid an exceptionally daring jibe -- a dangerous stunt in which the boom swings violently from one side of the ship to the other in an attempt to achieve a sharp turn; all that whilst keeping wind.

The _Jackdaw_ changed direction with such force, Emma slid across the hold and bumped against the hull on the other side. They had caught speed as well, the whole gambit aimed to bait the Spaniards into a position where the _Conde de Tolosa_ ’s sails went lax, but their’s hadn’t. In that moment the crew became alive, the ship once more loud with their voices. Edward’s bellow, however, dominated them all as he began to bark orders.

“Tops, galants, royals! Give me all she’s got!”

Wood creaked heavily as they accelerated even further and the realization hit she had never experienced them sail as fast before. Were they in pursuit? Surely the enemy would not just try to flee after such an effort to fight them off.

“Chainshot! Cripple their mast!”

The thunderous boom of the bow chasers resonated throughout the hold as the crew obeyed the command, soon followed by a round of cheers when, she assumed, they hit the target.

“Brace hard, lads. We’re gonna ram these cunts!”

Emma could count on one hand the number of times she had heard Edward so fired up, but could give it no more attention because the _Jackdaw_ was fast en route to collide with the Spanish frigate. Yet no matter how many sugar and flour sacks she stacked around herself, the strength of the impact threw her painfully against the steel bars of the brig. She probably should’ve taken cover in a cell instead, had she known they would take a prize with more creative means than just cannons.

If _The Benjamin_ ’s creaks were harrowing, then these were easily twice as bad. With the noise came a surge of panic as memories flooded back and the sickly feeling in her stomach wasn’t the result of their current engagement. But they didn’t remain stationary for long, all thoughts of Billy thankfully pushed to the back of her mind by Edward’s holler from the quarter deck.

_“Fire!”_

Heavy shots weren’t difficult to distinguish from eighteen pounder balls, mostly due to their sound. Their name was also a good indication of their capabilities and fired from point blank turned them from dangerous to devastating.

Despite their valiant effort and a battle longer than usual, the _Jackdaw_ prevailed. The crew boarded mostly unscathed, save a few injuries.

With the Spanish herded into an indignant looking group on the main deck, Emma crossed over and headed below with an empty sack to begin her search. One look at their galley told her the ship was well stocked, and she set out to mark several crates with chalk for the pirates to take. Everything else small enough to be carried would go into her bag.

Too caught up in her work, the realization that she had company didn’t come until there was a gentle tap on her shoulder.

_“Lo siento, señorita.”_

Startled, Emma spun around and instinctively lashed out with the kettle in her hand. The man, looking just as spooked, managed to jump back far enough to miss the full force of the blow. Yet even with his quick reaction, he couldn’t avoid the spout, which caught him on the forehead and drew blood. His painful yell was loud enough to alert the pirates above, and upon hearing feet race towards the hatch that lead below, he paled.

 “ _¡Espera!_ ” He called out quickly when two of her crew reached them, both hands up in the air to show he was unarmed. “Wait, _por favor_. I mean no harm.”

With their pistols trained on the Spaniard, they looked at Emma inquisitively. Unsure what the men expected of her, she shrugged and lowered the kettle she had still been holding like a club.

“I join you?”

When all eyes landed on her once more, as if they were waiting for her opinion on the matter, she shot back.

“What? Do you need my permission to go get the Captain?”

After some reluctance, one of the men finally woke up from his bewildered state, holstered his weapon, and returned above deck. By the time Edward made it down into the galley, she was dabbing away at the potential recruit’s wound with an alcohol soaked rag.

“What’s the pr--” He stopped to stare at the scene, confused. She assumed he wasn’t told why he was needed. “Who’s this?”

“Your new employee.” Emma replied as she tugged the man’s wig back into its place, who thanked her with entirely too much enthusiasm, and bodily contact -- as if she had pointed him towards the Fountain of Youth.

Edward’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the Spaniard’s hands on hers, then fell silent as to assess the situation. When he eventually spoke, his tone was particularly sharp.

“Why would I want a coward on my ship?”

“Those _bastardos_ are not worth to fight for. I work hard for many years, I wait for promotion. I was this close,” He held two fingers together tightly, “but then _el Capitán_ picks son of good friend as Officer over me. Little experience, little brain.”

A compelling appeal, or so the man thought, but Edward wouldn’t bite; that much was obvious. Gutlessness, no matter the circumstances, was a trait he could not stand and if the disdain on his features were any indication, he had no intention to hide it.

“I’ve no mind to take you.” If he had paused expecting an interruption, one never came, the Spaniard too crestfallen to interject. “Even if I did, you’d no position to fill. The _Jackdaw_ ’s crewed up.”

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Technically, it wasn’t true they would have no room to accommodate a new recruit. They were, after all, one man short -- and not just anyone, but a cook’s mate. Work after the incident had been difficult without the extra pair of hands, and cooking for seventy-two men took up all her time. Any help, no matter how small, would’ve eased her life and load tremendously; not to mention the company would come in handy too.

Yet after a glance at Edward, she could see he was in no mood for joviality. So, when Emma spoke up to voice her opinion, she made sure her tone was nothing if not proper.

“Captain, if I may.” That got his attention rather quickly. First, his expression was quizzical, but then turned knowing as he tilted his head slightly to the side. He had guessed she wanted something. “I’ve had some problem with the workload as of late. I’m only one woman to feed a ship full of men, and it’s been hard to keep up since…”

Emma let the sentence trail off and watched Edward piece together her request without having to finish it herself. The memories would not fade just from avoidance, but it was easier not to talk of Billy’s death out loud.

“You’d need the help.” It was rather a statement than a question and he looked as if he felt somewhat guilty for not thinking of it earlier.

“Yes.”

With a curt nod, Edward turned his attention back to the Spaniard, his features guarded. The scene strangely reminded her of the day she had been judged for service and she hoped the odds would be in her favor once more. Not that the man held any significance, but the help he could offer did. Emma felt fed up with running the galley alone.

“All right, I’ll give you the position of cook’s mate. Prove yourself useful and in time you’ll jump rank, but, if the cook,” Edward pointed firmly in her direction, “has even _one_ complaint about you, you’re gone. Count on that, I’m as good as my word. Am I understood?”

_“Sí.”_

“Good. Dismissed.”

As the two of them were left alone, Emma returned to work. The kettle made it into her sack together with a new pot and a drawer full of cutlery, and he didn’t need to be told twice to make himself useful. With a self-satisfied smirk, he guided her to the silverware kept for the Officers, blatantly savoring his first act of piracy against his former crew.

“So, _Commandante_ ,” He started while he helped wrestle one last item into her bag. “I am Antonio Cortez, _y usted_?”

“Emma Fraser. You can address me by either of those, or give me a nickname if you can keep it respectful. Many on the _Jackdaw_ go by those.”

Cortez stared at her for a moment before his gaze moved upwards and came to settle on her hair. She knew that look -- it was one of absolute uncreativity.

“No, you may not call me any version of red or ginger. And God forbid you even try with carrot.”

Disappointed or not, he had the decency to not show it. Instead, after an obedient nod, he quietly stepped back in order to allow her to pass. The silence lasted right until they made it back above deck. There, the sight of his old shipmates launched him into a fit of mocking laughter. With overly-flamboyant movements, he removed his wig and tossed it so hard it flew overboard. However, when his gaze settled on one particular prisoner, he stopped abruptly. There was a short pause before he began to unbutton his uniform jacket.

“ _¡Estoy cansado de su mierda!_ ” Cortez exclaimed triumphantly as he threw the crumpled up garment into the young man’s face -- the one who got made into Officer instead of him, she assumed. After being witness to his reaction and the obscene gestures, Emma didn’t doubt he was indeed tired of their shit, as one pirate who spoke Spanish courteously translated for everyone. Or perhaps he was just entirely off his knockers, it was hard to tell.

“I will see your mothers soon!” He shouted and, as a final parting gift, gave his crotch a firm squeeze to make his message clear. The _Jackdaw_ ’s crew, having enjoyed the show, roared in amusement at the new recruit’s moxie.


	8. Chapter 8

The supplies taken from the Spanish frigate kept them out at sea longer, but eventually they had to stop at an island to get fresh water and game. It was a welcome short breather away from their duties. Happy to be off the ship for a couple of days, Emma stretched, her back strained after the time she spent hunched over below deck. Cortez's assistance greatly eased the load on her shoulders, but the men worked long shifts and had to be well fed, so most of her time was spent in the galley.

Although glad her new cook's mate didn't seem to have any issues taking orders from a woman, he did need a brief lecture on etiquette. While Edward had his articles and expected the crew to follow them to the letter, she came up with her own for the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked on his second day on board after she saw him peel potatoes with her fish knife.

Cortez looked at her as if she had just asked him whether water was wet.

"I skin potato." He replied stating, what was to him, the obvious.

"I can see  _that_ , but with  _that_  knife?"

" _Sí_? Knife is knife."

She felt her eye twitch in irritation as she ordered him to stop and follow her. Confused, but obedient, he did as he was told and waited silently as she laid all her utensils out on the workbench.

" _This_ ," Emma pointed at the first blade in the row," is for meats in general - pork, beef, birds, whatever else. The one you used for the potatoes is for fish. I like to keep separate tools when it comes to pungent ingredients, to minimise the mixing of tastes." She went on to explain what the rest were for then paused before the last one, a hefty cleaver, and looked directly at Cortez. "And this is what I'll use to work on  _you_ , if you muck up the order again. Do you understand?"

He nodded nervously, " _Sí, Commandante_."

Aside from that initial hiccup, he followed her lead without complaint; even when she told him to tie his hair back and keep his hands clean while in the galley.

Her expected rest was cut short when Edward summoned her to an isolated part of the beach. Unsure what to expect, Emma approached him with slight apprehension at the sight of empty rum bottles lined up neatly atop a fallen palm tree.

"Was all that today's drink, Captain?"

"A man has to learn to cope with you somehow."

She glared at him with a wry smile, her hands on her hips. "I assume you asked me out here for a reason?"

"Aye, you're here to learn how to fight."

"Well, you sure know how to get a lass in the mood."

"So I've been told." Edward quipped smugly as he stripped off his robes and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. With the sun high in the noon sky, he had the right idea trying to lessen the heat. "No, but in truth, I want you to be able to defend yourself after what happened on that Spanish frigate. Next time you might run into a shitbird."

Emma nodded and kicked her boots to the side, toes wiggling in the warm sand. She couldn't disagree; the thought of being able to wield more than just a kettle as a weapon appealed to her.

"First, I'll show you how to fire a pistol." He drew a flintlock from one of his discarded belts and, after a cursory glance, shot at one of the targets with nonchalance. The sound of glass shattering made him smirk. "Let's see if the student can beat the teacher."

Even though the comment was more fueled by his smugness than actual expectation, she still felt somewhat intimidated. His skills were as impressive as his reputation said - not that she was about to stroke his ego; it was big enough on its own. After a few rolls of her shoulders, she marched up to him and held out a hand.

"Alright, show me what to do, then."

Edward patiently reloaded the gun and passed it over with a look she only understood a moment later. The weapon was heavier than Emma thought and it nearly fell from her grasp; something he seemingly anticipated.

"Don't worry, the weight of them is always a surprise. You'll get used to it with practice." He instructed her into a position easier for beginners, her shooting arm braced on the fore of her other one. "This'll give you support and better accuracy."

With a thigh wedged between her legs and his chest flush against her back, his hold was firm to lock her in the stance. Blush spread across her cheeks, his voice distant due to the distraction his proximity caused. If she could've focused, Emma would've felt somewhat embarrassed by her reaction to him. Instead, she was acutely aware of the heat that wafted off of him and how his muscles shifted while he continued on with his instructions. Under the smell of gunpowder and the musk of fresh sweat, she could detect the faint scent of her own soap he had apparently lifted from her crate in their cabin before he stalked off to wash. The image of him bathing with her toiletries had an unexpected allure.

"Emma, you got that?" Edward's words finally pulled her out of her reverie.

" _W-what_?"

"You comfortable?" She could hear the smirk in his voice, but only when he bounced his thigh a little did she understand what he meant. In her total loss of concentration she had relaxed her position and not only leaned back into him, but effectively came to straddle his leg.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" After a jump, she moved to reassume her initial pose - a little too quick to not give away how flustered she felt, but kept her eyes strictly forward and hoped he wouldn't comment on it.

"It usually takes me a bit more effort to make a woman go weak at the knees."

_So much for that._

"N-no, it's just the heat is making your weapon hard - to hold, I mean - because it's wet - since I'm wet, from sweating. I'm sweaty." She stopped before she dug the hole any deeper and wished the ocean would swallow her whole. "Where were we in the lesson?"

There was a few seconds worth of pause which made Emma feel curious to know what he thought, given the lack of response to the mess that came out of her mouth. When he began to correct her posture once more, his movements were slow and deliberate. He angled her hips and a gentle press on her abdomen made her stand up straighter - all in all, his interaction felt almost intimate.

"A pistol's like a man, you see." His hand was on hers then, adjusting her grip on the weapon. "You have to cock it for it to fire. When the hammer's down, it won't work. Now..." Edward trailed off as his thumb worked the mechanism which held the flint until it clicked once. "When you do that, you'll get it half-cocked. Still not what you want, but better than before." He repeated his previous action and the pistol clicked again. "You pull it back all the way," His breath was hot against her cheek, his voice low, causing her to forget for a moment where she was and what they were there for. "and now, you've got  _me_  fully cocked and ready to fire."

Emma bit her lip. She had slipped back into distraction and it was hard to tell if he said 'got  _him_  fully cocked', or  _it_ , as in the pistol.  _Bloody git is playing me like a fiddle_ , she thought with a pang of frustration, but couldn't focus enough to ignore the feel of him around her. A shot rang out, the only indication she had pulled the trigger by accident.

Startled, she flinched and found herself backed up tighter against Edward. With a muttered apology, she tried to scoot away, but paused when his embrace tightened.

"Easy, now. It's all right, the first shot's always the hardest."

He held her to his chest until her heart didn't feel like it would burst, then offered up another flintlock - a smaller one from his baldric.

"Same as before, handle the cock just like I showed you."

 _I wish he'd stop whispering in my ear about cocks_ , Emma closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. After calming somewhat, she did what he taught her earlier and aimed - that time, without his help. The shot was still off, but at least her legs didn't feel like they'd give out.

"That's a good lass."

She was wrong, there was a chance they might.

After a few more rounds - most of which didn't even come close to the targets - they stopped on account of her arm beginning to shake from the strain.

"Enjoy a quick kip." Edward let go of her and stepped back. Rather apprehensive of having to face him, her expected awkwardness was exchanged by annoyance when she turned. Unabashed about how he had mercilessly teased her, he grinned impishly. "After that, I'll let you play with my sword."

The coy wink did her in. She would have to find a way to land a jab on him somehow.

They settled in the shade and hoped the heat would lessen, to some extent, as the day progressed into the afternoon. In spite of his obvious discomfort, Edward didn't complain. Instead, he opted to remove all he wore except for his breeches, then tied his hair back into a tight bun. Emma wished she had the same liberty when it came to a state of undress, because even with her shirt knotted under her bust to free more skin, she felt almost cooked. The large frond, which doubled as a fan, didn't help much with the stuffiness either.

"You've been a rigger?" She asked once he climbed down from the top of a palm tree and gathered the coconuts he'd dropped.

"Amongst other things. I had many roles before I did a decent trick at the helm some time ago. Two years before the mast as a Privateer."

For all his bluster, he was admittedly talented and a quick study according to what she knew of his past. Not infallible, as he liked to think himself to be, but good. Perhaps even better than that. It started to get on her nerves how savvy he was.  _Bloody hell, at this point it's a miracle I haven't written the bastard an ode._

Edward made quick work of the hard shells with the wrist blades he carried - fancy weapons she wished to get her hands on. He had given a demonstration the first morning she had seen him put them on and wondered if they were one of the arms he'd teach her how to handle.

The coconut water felt like heaven to her parched lips and she drained the two halves with greedy gulps. Unsure how to proceed without utensils, she stopped to look at Edward for direction - however, instead of eating it, he scooped the white flesh into his palms and rubbed his hands together. He didn't stop until the fruit had turned into a thick paste, which he then smeared over his face.

"What's that for?"

"Helps with the burn. You should try it, you're already as pink as a piglet." He used his blade to cut a slice from the drupe and popped it into his mouth. "It'll only get worse if you leave it. Painful too."

Emma squinted in pretense sternness at the comparison, but followed suit. The coconut smudged across her cheeks cooled her skin immediately, drawing a pleased sigh from her. The sensation was lovely.

"That'll do." Edward barked a short laugh and booped a big lump of fruit from her nose. "Come on, let's get back to work."

As soon as they stepped out onto the sand again, his cockiness returned. Before he handed her a sword, he prefaced the lesson with a short speech about how detailed - or in their case, how superficial - the instruction would be. The goal was to teach her to handle herself, not to train a proficient fighter.

"Use whatever you need to either incapacitate your opponent or to give yourself enough time to get out. No trick is too dirty when it comes to survival."

With all that said, he tossed over a weapon and told her not to hold back; he was more than likely able to handle her attacks.

Edward laughed when she asked if they could start with some basic defensive techniques, and said those were not his forté. He could only teach her in what he knew best, and that was, apparently, aggressive offense.

Less of an active participant than she hoped to be, Emma spent a good portion of the fight dazed and out of breath by his speed. When not disarmed in two moves, she struggled to keep steady due to her own clumsy footwork. Edward, on the other hand, just grinned, not even close to breaking a sweat. He flaunted his agility incessantly, his moves an overkill for a partner so inexperienced. At first, he kept her in check with faked lunges which never actually led to any more than that. As a test of courage, he repeated the action over and over again and the anticipation of an attack made Emma jump back nervously almost every time - tripping over her own feet in the process. Exploiting the confusion, he struck when least expected and sent her back onto the sand with a squeal of surprise.

By the time she gathered herself together enough to reciprocate, Edward had already retreated to a safe distance. His speed came as a surprise. Given his bulk, Emma didn't expect light-footedness; especially not the level of mobility he had. After a few more charges in various intricate manners, she began to grow fed up.

"Keep up! We barely just started." He grinned roguishly. It was more about him showing off than the actual lesson.

"For Christ's sake, this is ridiculous. Can you please slow down a little and actually show me something?"

Edward had the gall to roll his eyes.

"Fine. Come at me."

With an annoyed huff, she picked her sword up and engaged him. While some pointers were given along the way on posture and how to keep her wrist so she didn't hurt herself, she could tell he was still sulky from his ruined fun. The punishment, it seemed, was that he only used one technique to parry, which slowed their dynamic to monotonous repetition.

Between the heat, the aches through her body, and Edward's juvenile behavior, Emma had just about enough. Ignoring all previous instructions about the proper way to lunge, she broke her pose and thrust incorrectly to get him from a different angle. Caught off guard, he managed to block the strike, but had to take a step back.

"Cheeky." Edward growled and shoved back with his shoulder, sending her ass first onto the sand.

Now openly angry, she decided the situation called for the dirty tricks mentioned earlier. Unexpectedly, Emma shot forward, dodged his instinctive riposte and threw a handful of sand in his face. Edward lowered his guard in a fit of coughs and she took the opening to slice at him. He still had enough of his vision left to jump back, but was significantly slower, so her sword hit home - right under the Kenway family jewels.

The satisfaction of a successful attack was short lived, however, because his silent shock was replaced by a low hiss as he checked his thigh. She gasped loudly at the sight of blood on his breeches, and rushed over.

"Oh my God, I'm  _so_  sorry!"

Most of the damage was inflicted upon the fabric, but it was lucky his reflexes were fast. Without the quick jump backwards, he would've gotten more than a scrape.

" _Jaysus_ , remind me next time to wear a codpiece." He smirked when she looked up. "If you cut the lads, you'll be the one to stitch them up."

Emma arched an eyebrow, then smiled mischievously when she saw the opportunity to get back at him. As she stood, the tips of her fingers trailed lightly up the length of his thigh. Edward's grin grew wider as her touch approached his groin, and, as she stepped closer - almost close enough for them to kiss - his body language changed. Besides the dilated pupils, he leaned forward with an expression that egged her on. A ghost of a touch across her hand filled her with self-satisfaction; the good Captain wanted her more than he let on.

Fueled by a moment of Kenwayesque cockiness, Emma grasped his sash and yanked him flush against her, his eyes widening in surprise.

"There are easier ways to get my hands down your pants, you know." She whispered flirtatiously as her cheek grazed against his stubble. A slight shiver ran through him at that and after a short pause for dramatic effect, she moved until their eyes met. "Pulling a knife on an unarmed woman? Well, I'll say."

Edward half-sputtered in response, but stopped before he could've appeared properly flustered.

Delighted with the reaction her counterplay had gotten, Emma decided it was best to quit while still ahead. A smirk later, she brushed past him and dragged a hand gently across his abdomen - but did not expect to be grabbed by the wrist and pulled back.

"This is far from over." His voice was low, and she would've pegged it as menacing lest the look of frustrated desire on his face. It was like she had exploited a chink in his otherwise sturdy armor, which made him expose emotions deeper than the superficial ones he kept on show.

"You know where to find me,  _Captain_."

A sly wink finished her offense and left him to decide whether he wanted to throw her over his shoulder, or off the ship.

 _I guess the student_ can  _beat the teacher_ , Emma grinned widely to herself as she walked off.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting messages about what Emma looks like and some more information on her, so I set up a page with some [tid-bits, and a portrait. ](http://jaxdaw.tumblr.com/emma) Also, I will try to update as frequently as I can, but I've recently moved countries to do my Master's Degree, and my schedule gets pretty tight between studying and sports clubs.

After a stop in Nassau to sell what they had taken, the next couple of months found them up and down the West Indies. Whether it were ships, plantations, or even forts, the Jackdaw and her crew took them with varying effort. For the most part, her schedule was work and sleep, with apparently quite a lot more Edward in between than she had expected. It seemed the events on the beach had spurred him to seek her out more often, despite his best efforts to avoid contact somewhat.

When he thought she was too busy to pay attention, Emma would notice him sneak glances - she would know, the act was mutual. Edward would struggle the most in the mornings their shifts started at the same time. While previously they would help each other with minor tasks, now he acted as if even the slightest touch would burn him. Still, he'd give in here and there and tuck a loose strand of hair into her bun or help straighten her sash - his intention didn't seem to go as planned.

Soon, Emma reckoned he came to see the futility of his efforts and gave up. It was hard to tell whether it was his wounded pride that caused the behavior, or perhaps something else.

One afternoon, she watched Edward attempt to trim the back of his hair without a mirror, his arms in a position too awkward for a smooth cut. Tired of seeing him battle against himself, Emma put down the embroidery she had worked on and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Let me. I can actually see what needs to be done."

Given his recent reluctance to communicate, she had expected to be rebuffed. Instead, after a good few seconds of silence, he handed the pair of rusty clippers over without a word of complaint. It was clear they had seen better days and she grimaced - he would've done a more precise job with a cutlass.

"I don't need all those." Edward protested at the sight of her seamstress scissors and fine toothed comb, but otherwise made no move to stop her.

"Oh, hush. I'll need these to sort where you've butchered your hair."

Emma tried to focus on the task, but was repeatedly interrupted by the apparent ticklishness across his scalp. Whenever she tried to comb through his damp mane, he would fidget, which made dealing with the tangles a lot more painful.

"Sit still, will you? Or you'll end up bald by the time we're finished."

"Jaysus, mum. Stop fussing and just cut the damn thing."

"I need to make sure it's even. I can't just do it half-arsed."

He snorted and she could hear the eye roll in his reply.

"Aye, it's important I look dapper. We don't want those we board to think me a scoundrel."

"Well, with your hair only long on one side, I'd be more worried about whether your own crew will take you seriously."

At that, Edward huffed, but settled somewhat and allowed her to continue undisturbed. With the edges of what he had previously done too jagged, she had to trim them as precisely as possible for the neatest look given the circumstances. No wonder he had trouble with it, his hair was especially thick. Dry too, from so much exposure to the elements - naught a little olive oil couldn't fix. Emma smirked at the thought of him soaking for softer tresses.

"You're quite experienced at this." Edward commented as he lowered his head to give her better access to the nape of his neck.

"Mmhm, I used to cut my husband's hair. I've gotten used to it."

A lengthy silence fell over them and her attention drifted back to her task. When he spoke up again, his tone was tentative as if unsure whether to broach the subject or not.

"Do you miss him?"

The question was unexpectedly personal, which caught her off guard. All their knowledge of each other came from casual conversation, - little details wrapped up in other information - never in the form of direct inquiry. The change in pace to their interaction was pleasant, she just wasn't sure how to best answer. Would it make me callous if I said no? To humor his curiosity, Emma decided to reply as honestly as she could.

"Yes, although not in the way I'm expected to. I'm sorry he's gone, but…" She considered how to best word her thoughts. "Our marriage wasn't the passionate affair young girls dream of. I liked him, and he treated me well, so I can't complain. But I mourned him as I would've a friend."

Edward went on to ask more about her life before the Jackdaw, so she summarized the highlights of her history. Even though it wasn't anything overly impressive, it was hers. Oldest child of her parents, sent away to marry for the good of the clan - the usual, she guessed; wasn't very often a woman had the luxury to wed the man she loved.

It took a few subtle questions about anyone she might've left behind that she understood what he wanted to know.

"We didn't have any children." Emma paused with a smirk. "I was about to say fortunately for you, since I don't think your ship is safe for infants, but then I remembered Wilson seems to be doing quite alright."

He did not predict the conversation to take the turn it did, so he let out an almighty guffaw at the jab.

"Is being a pirate an affair young girls dream of, then?" Edward asked, once his amusement subsided.

Barking a short laugh, she wiped the fallen hair from his shoulders.

"Cooking for so many men is a far cry from romantic, but it's an adventure none the less. How about you? How does your wife feel about your fearsome reputation?"

"I doubt she'd approve." He smiled somewhat guardedly as he put his shirt back on. "But I wouldn't know, she left me half a decade ago before I sailed out of Bristol."

The answer alleviated the slight guilt in the back of her mind for flirting with a married man. Yet the way his face flinched before he replied made her appreciate the honesty; she had come to understand it was not easy for him to openly talk about emotions.

Emma went to fetch her mirror from the crate she kept her meager wealth in. It was rather small and needed a good clean, but with no other reflective surface in their cabin, it would have to do. "Here, take a look. I hope it's to your liking."

Edward inspected her work from various different angles before breaking into a wide smile.

"Impressive. I like it." There was a pause before he stepped closer, a ghost of a calculative expression across his face. "Thanks, love."

Then he bent down, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

The peck had left her dazed long enough that by the time she recovered, he was already out the door. His gesture was so unexpected, for a moment Emma wasn't sure if it really had happened or if it was only her imagination. Yet the definite tingle across her mouth indicated Edward had, in fact, done the deed - with great nonchalance - as if it was a common exchange between them.

Thrown off by the whole affair, she stood around sheepishly before remembering she had hoped to clean up a little. With one of Jack's shanties hummed quietly, and a bounce in her step, she set out to sweep up the fallen hair.

* * *

She had been down in the galley about to end a shift when the displeased grumbling caught her attention. Frustrated with Edward's ardent ambition to locate the Observatory, some of the crew had decided to voice their complaints over their meals.

Worried about what might have happened to cause a reaction so negative, Emma put Cortez in charge and left earlier to investigate.

There was no sign of Edward on the top decks, so she ventured into their cabin and found him hunched over the round desk in the middle. Despite an audible entrance, he made no move to acknowledge her presence - a worrisome forecast of his mood. Warily, she approached to see what had him so intense and saw a bundle of maps, the one of the Observatory on top; given how much he had studied it, Emma doubted he didn't already have all its details memorized.

Before she even had the opportunity to think of an ice breaker, he snapped.

"If you've come to call me a fanciful pillock, lay off. I don't want to hear it."

Taken aback by the sharpness of his tone, she instinctively reeled back. Something serious must've happened to have him so ready to lash out in anger. With the tension in his body, his posture reminded her of a mouse trap - tightly coiled and ready to deliver a deadly strike if provoked. While she knew he would never raise a hand to her, it would prove tricky to approach him in a way which would diffuse the situation enough to find out what was wrong.

"Are you alright?"

Edward straightened and rounded on her with a speed that made her back up into the table with a model of the Jackdaw on it. Even though the height difference between them was minimal, Emma felt towered over; the sheer intensity of his emotions did all the work to make him seem incredibly intimidating.

"Oh, I'm fucking fantastic. I live for the moments when my crew threatens to depose me as captain for 'chasing after fairy stories', instead of taking any old measly prize we can." He advanced on her, fists balled; there was nowhere else to retreat, so she planted her feet and stood fast. "The Observatory would give us a fortune, but no one gives a shite. They don't take me seriously, and unfortunately, I need these bastards to sail the ship. Otherwise, I'd do it on my own."

With his arms braced either side of her - effectively pinning her to the table - he hung his head. After a short pause, his voice no longer boomed, but was low and firm.

"I didn't leave home to live mildly, Emma. I don't risk my life every bloody day to be average. I want to be a man of property and purpose," When their gazes met, a chill ran down her spine at the look of steely determination in his eyes. He pointed at the door before he continued, "and I'll go through every single fucking one of them if I have to, to get what I deserve."

The urge to flinch away was hard to resist and Emma swallowed nervously as she chose her next words with care.

"I think," The sharpness with which he regarded her was unnerving. He metaphorically circled like a predator, eager to strike at the first opportunity. "I don't know enough of the world to be able to say whether the Observatory exists or not."

Edward's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head sideways slightly.

"If you're just saying that to calm me, this will not end well for us."

Two things happened at once: Emma got angry at the insinuation that she would try to manipulate him, but also couldn't help but notice, how, in the heat of the moment, he acknowledged something between them.

"How dare you disrespect me," She gave him a shove which knocked him off balance, "and imply I would lie to you just to calm your bloody tantrum, Kenway!"

"Tantrum?!" The unexpected rebuke caught him off guard, and he visibly puffed up as his temper flared after a momentary lull. And while Emma understood his upset, she wasn't about to allow him to take it out on her. When he opened his mouth to retort, she cut him short with a tone that left no room for argument.

"Oh, just stay quiet for once!"

His jaw was set so hard she expected to hear his teeth crack under the pressure.

"You daft sod! For your age, you are - by far - one of the most prolific pirates people have heard of. Your reputation is a testament to that. You are a capable Captain, who has us take a variety of prizes, whether be they ships or even forts, with a brig. We took Man o' Wars with the Jackdaw, Edward. You have forty-six cannons on this ship. Forty-six! I don't need to tell you how many a brig usually has. You are cunning and ingenious, so don't, even for a moment, dare to think I would not trust your judgement on this." It was her turn to advance on him. "If you say the Observatory exists, I believe you."

At first, it seemed he wasn't sure whether to be flattered, or insulted. Then, Edward smiled with all teeth, but no humor.

"Tell my fucking crew that."

"They're your crew. If they don't understand, make them."

He closed his eyes, exhaling long through his nostrils before he turned and slumped into the chair at his navigation table. With his head rested in his palm, he looked absolutely exhausted. Carefully, Emma approached before she placed a hand on his shoulder. Since he didn't flinch away from the contact, but instead lifted his head to look at her, she cupped his cheek. The gesture made him lean into the touch and his eyes shut again as he relaxed. The sight pushed her to act on the impulse to show him affection.

"I have faith in you, Edward. I have faith you'll become the man you set out to be."

His stare was almost incredulous, as if it were the first time anyone had expressed their support for him. For a moment she wondered if it could be true. An encouraging smile crept across her face, then she bent down to press a gentle kiss onto the corner of his mouth.

"I don't think you've eaten properly today. I'll go bring you something from the galley."

From the door, Emma could see that the way Edward gazed after her was similar to hers after the first kiss they shared.

* * *

After he wolfed down two servings of porridge as if he hadn't eaten in weeks, Edward kicked back, his legs crossed at the ankles on top of his study. With an expression of a cat lazing around in the sun, he yawned and scratched through his beard, contented. She half expected to hear him purr.

"What?" He smiled when he saw her smirk.

"I used to know a lady who had this giant cat called Norrington. He was massive - I've never seen one so fat before, or since. He would always end up in our garden somehow, begging to be caressed." Her smirk grew impish. "You remind me of that chubby beast right now, the way you look."

"Well, I may not be that big, but I have enough you can rub."

Emma rolled her eyes, but laughed when he winked cheekily.

"Alright, Captain. You and your 'enough' should rest. You look baked."

"Can't just yet. Need to speak with Ade first."

Worry replaced her amusement as she was reminded of the day's events. If the crew were serious about deposing him, that would mean a very likely end to her career, as well. Even if the new Captain was one of those who didn't mind her presence, the change wouldn't be a positive one. A hammock down below, Emma cringed at the thought, whatever could possibly go wrong in the dark, surrounded by at least fifteen men at one time?

"Do you think they'll do it? Vote you out, I mean."

Edward was silent for a while, which didn't help her nervousness. He appeared unsure how to best sugarcoat his answer.

"I suppose you'll know if it isn't me who comes back tonight." At the sight of her deadpan expression, he turned sober. "It'll be fine. I promise."

Emma wondered how he could give his word on something he had no full control over. It didn't alleviate her concerns in the slightest.

* * *

The limited number of books he kept could only distract her for so long, and with the uncertainty of how long he would be gone, Emma decided it was probably best if she didn't wait up. Another night of sleep with her breeches on sounded too much after so many months, so she set out to see if there were any shirts long enough to cover her thighs. When she came across a simple cut shift at the bottom of a trunk, her first reaction was to wonder how it got on the ship in the first place. But given Edward's habit to hoard all sorts of items, - especially the odd trinkets littered about - the find wasn't altogether a surprise.

If there was trouble, the pirates were more than likely to be noisy; the thought lessened her nerves somewhat as she undressed. Without the accompanying corset the garment fit her decent, even if its length didn't go below the knees.

Well, if we do get a new Captain, he's in for a sight. Emma tried to joke as she undid her bun and headed towards the bed. However, just as she was about to get in, a thought came to her. Edward slept progressively worse and began to snore louder than ever before. The restless nights started to weigh on his performance, which made her decide it was time for a change. If he was unwilling to switch bunks with her when offered, she would take matters into her own hands.

Emma swapped their pillows around before she eyed up the hammock. Unsure how to climb in - so as not to end up flat on her arse on the floor - she attempted to pull herself up enough that she could wiggle inside.

"Why is this thing hung so damned high?" She cursed as she pulled a crate under it. With the extra height she fared easier and was almost in when the sound of the cabin's door caught her ear.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Emma replied over her shoulder as she tried to remain still. The incessant sway found her somewhat nauseous.

"From here, it looks like you're trying to get into a hammock for the first time in your life."

The amusement in his voice was thinly veiled which she tried her best to ignore.

"I just wanted you to have a good night's sleep, you could really use it."

"And you think you'll be more comfortable?"

Dizzy and disoriented, she carefully climbed back out onto the crate. The smirk on his face wasn't a surprise, neither was the way he leaned against the door frame, having enjoyed the show.

"Well, it will be quieter than your snoring, you tit."

Edward narrowed his eyes in mock upset over the jab and kicked away from the wall. With a few steps, he crossed to the bed and stood silently for a moment.

"What if we just did away with the hammock from now on?"

"You mean...share the bed?"

He nodded casually and Emma regarded him with what she hoped was a neutral facial expression. While she was excited about the suggestion, it also made her somewhat nervous. Even when she had been married, they had their separate rooms and only slept together when it was time for their marital duties - a duty more so on her part than on her husband's. Edward, on the other hand, was someone she felt genuinely attracted to. Despite already having spent the night with him in her tent, she was unsure what etiquette the offer required.

Undeterred by her lack of experience, Emma was open to try.

"Alright, can do."

She padded over, pillow in hand, and made sure her shift was neatly tucked in before she climbed into the bed, then pulled the covers to her chest. It was a leftover habit yet to be shed from her married years; she wondered if the ritual was perhaps a little rigid given their past interaction. The answer came after Edward had stripped to his breeches. He flopped down unceremoniously with a long contented sigh and stretched like a big cat. As per usual, he rolled onto his belly a moment later, which forced her to scoot towards the hull in order to accommodate him. With the space not meant for two people, they would have to huddle together to fit.

"Are you sure you'd rather not sleep on this side?"

"Not unless you want to be climbed over when I need to get up." Edward stuffed his pillow under his head and closed his eyes. Once calm, she covered them both with care prior to settling on her back.

In the darkness of the cabin her previous nervousness about the crew returned, and while his composure should've been an indication there was no trouble, she had to make sure.

"Are you still Captain, then?"

"Aye. For now."

Emma rolled over with a frown; it was not a conversation to be had without her full attention.

"For now? What does that mean?"

Edward opened his eyes to meet her gaze, his face solemn.

"They're not barking as loud anymore. I still intend on going after the Observatory, though, so the problem probably won't wear off."

"You'll make them listen, I don't doubt it."

"Mmm." When he didn't react any further, she assumed that was the end of it. But after a pause, he chuckled humorlessly. "You're the first to not laugh outright at the idea."

"I meant every word I said before."

Silence fell over them and Emma found she couldn't decipher the look on his face. Edward's stare was intent as his eyes roamed across her features with sharp focus. Tentatively, he reached out to gently brush locks of hair from around her face and when she didn't recoil, he moved to follow the contours of her jawline with his thumb. Her skin flushed, not just from the contact, but also from the realization that she had been unconsciously tracing the tattoos on his arm. Overwhelmed with the want to kiss him, but inexplicably hesitant to be the one to instigate, she hoped her eyes would get her desire across. It was short, a ghost of a caress when he leaned in to press a lingering peck onto her mouth - he didn't go far, though, when he pulled back; just a few inches that left their noses to touch.

Emma channelled all the past eight month's worth of frustration their teasing had built into her gaze and saw the same mirrored within his. Entirely high-strung, brief flirtations would just not cut it anymore; she craved greater intimacy with him. As she moved to close the distance between them, his eyes, previously half-lidded with want, turned eager and he met her halfway.

At first their kisses were slow and exploratory; her heart hammered hard against her chest as their lips glided over each other smoothly. There was a definite spiced aftertaste to him, as well as to his breath, which she assumed was from the rum he had shared with the men below deck. When Edward gently bit down, she squeaked in surprise; the next noise, however, was far more deliberate as she felt his tongue flick against her with a chuckle. Emma returned the gesture and he groaned into her mouth, his arm reaching across her waist to pull her flush to his body.

He was warmer than expected, and, in an attempt to get even closer, she instinctively buried her hand in his hair - his locks tugged free from the leather strap that kept them bound. Another nip made her grind up against him wantonly with a moan and he replied by rolling on top of her, his hips between her thighs.

Unlike her previous intimate encounters - the secret almost-affairs with a village lad before her marriage not counted - where she lay back and fulfilled her duties, Emma felt her arousal grow even more because he was somebody she wholeheartedly yearned for.

His lips left her mouth and began to trail kisses down her chin, then onto her jawline. Unsure of what to do with her hands, while his moved up her thigh and under her shift to palm her arse, she settled on lightly grazing her nails across his back. Edward growled as a shiver ran through him, his breath scorched against her already flushed skin. As his mouth reached her neck, his hand came up to cup her breast firmly. A whimper of approval later, he let his touch freely roam her body. When he began to tug the hem of her shift upwards, Emma spread her legs wider to better accommodate him and reached down between them to unlace his breeches. However, in the midst of their impassioned state, it was hard to concentrate - especially since both of them shared an urgent need for one another.

"Land ho, you blind pillock!" Emma vaguely heard Wilson call out from his outpost above, and when the Jackdaw juddered rather violently, Edward's head shot up from the nape of her neck.

"For fuck's sake!" He jumped out of bed and struggled to pull his breeches back onto his hips. "I'm going to throw that cock overboard, by God."

With eyes tightly squeezed shut, she bit her lip to keep from letting forth a series of rather colorful expletives. It seemed downright cruel, the interruption. They reached a height together that was almost painful to leave unattended. It was like her sails had gone slack after riding a strong trade wind and she felt a little dizzy after the crash. When the urge to scream passed somewhat, she rolled over to look at him.

"Not if I beat you to it."

"I need to sort this." Edward's voice was a mix of apologetic and murderous, and she hoped he wouldn't take too long. Yet when her eyes traveled down his body, she arched an eyebrow at the sight that he still pointed true North quite prominently. At her smirk, he dropped his gaze and groaned; like it or not, he would have to go outside in the state he was in.

Finn Reilly, one of the sailors who manned the swivels, had just started his lessons as a helmsman for the times when both Captain and Quartermaster were unavailable. He was also about to experience, for the first time, Edward storm out of his cabin like a charging bull - horn included. Perhaps the encounter would teach him to pay more attention the next time he navigated shallow waters.

* * *

By the time Edward had finished his threats to inflict bodily harm onto the poor man and came back, Emma had dozed off. The bed dipped behind her when he got on, one of his arms snaking around her shortly after as he snuggled up close. In an effort to demand attention, he placed his chin on her shoulder, then pressed a sloppy kiss onto her neck. She replied with a mournful whine at the interruption to her sleep, but when he went ahead and reached under her shift to grope at her, she jumped with a startled yelp - his hands were bitterly cold.

"Don't make me banish you back into the hammock, Kenway." It was hard to sound stern while drowsy and when he scoffed, like the little shite he was, she knew he didn't take her seriously.

"Unfortunately, love, I'm quite like scurvy - hard to get rid of."

"I really hope you're not speaking out of experience here."

After a few more pecks onto her shoulders, Edward settled behind her, and accepted that he returned too late for them to continue from where they had been rudely cut short.

Later, when Emma had to get up to use the chamber pot, she got the chance to return his earlier frigid touch. A pair of cold feet to his back sent him nearly toppling off the bed with a painful groan.

"You are such a pain in the arse."

"It takes one to know one."

With a satisfied smirk, she climbed over him, and pressed a kiss onto his nose before she settled under his touch again. Seemingly appeased, Edward relaxed and pulled her close before he drifted back off.


	10. Chapter 10

Reilly’s cock up coupled with Edward’s fierce protectiveness of the ship had led the latter to double his shifts. While his refusal to leave the Irishman alone at the helm, until he got better, placated his worry for the _Jackdaw_ , it kept him from other activities -- ones they were both very keen to engage in. Once he’d finally stumble into his cabin, Emma would usually be asleep; or if she wasn’t, he hadn’t the energy to ‘perform.’

The resulting frustration had left her to skirt around him in an attempt to keep their hands off each other. It was for the best, she knew, despite the temptation to give in; if they wanted to get their duties done proper, they would have to wait to satiate their needs. Edward, however, was a man with limited patience and a taste for self indulgence who pursued what he wanted with steely determination. Why separate work and play?

Consequently, when the mornings found them together, she would end up -- in some shape or form -- cornered in their cabin.

“I can’t,” Emma tried to reason as he embraced her from behind, leaving a trail of kisses along the crook of her neck. The bastard did not mess around and went straight for the spots he had realized were her most sensitive. “I have to get the galley ready.”

“Cortez can handle it.”

Edward stroked down her sides and began to untie her sash; it took all her willpower to swat his hands away.

“True, but Ade’s been looking for you. Best not keep him waiting.”

“Let him, for all I care.”

“Ah, you’ve never quite grasped the importance of punctuality.”

The speed he spun her around with would’ve knocked her off balance had he not held onto her. Two fingers came under her chin to tilt her head up, and Emma came to face his lackluster glare with a smirk.

“Don’t get haughty with me, sweetheart.”

“Or else you’ll cut my tongue and feed it to me?”

A shadow of a dangerous expression crossed his features which made her wonder if perhaps she had gotten too cocky with the last comment. Besides Hornigold’s man on the island, she heard him utter a similar line only once before; to an old Spaniard cooped up in a fort they had taken -- Edward was all smiles then, but the gesture held no humor, only threat. Yet, instead of a reprimand or a flash of temper, he merely scoffed at the tease and kissed her roughly on the lips.

“I can think of better uses for your tongue, despite its habit to cut your own throat with its cheeky sharpness.”

Save for some minor grumbling he let go without further argument and stepped aside, but walked her to the cabin door, hands firmly on her behind.

“Now that’s booty.”

With a roll of her eyes and an exasperated groan, she shook her head -- the least she could do was let him have the moment. Given the jokes around the _Jackdaw_ about the Captain and his ‘full mast’ after he had rushed out to shout down Reilly, it was the least fun he could get out of the situation. Emma couldn’t blame him for his impatience. In the end, it was hardly his fault they found themselves in their predicament and she could relate to his mood; her composure was also stretched incredibly thin.

* * *

Their schedules changed a few days later when they spotted a jewel of a merchant galleon not far from Serranilla, tailed by three escort vessels: two schooners and a frigate. The beauty and size of the prize, combined with the challenge of the encounter proved irresistible for Edward. After hours of tactical pursuit, they engaged the convoy just as they neared the Devil’s Backbone, as the sailors called it; a tight succession of channels littered with an array of jagged rocks that jutted from the ocean, making navigation perilous. Except their good Captain was an exceptional helmsman and sailed through it with surgical precision in an attempt to bait the ships to give chase.

The frigate unexpectedly sank itself in a narrower passage as it cut a corner too close and got its hull torn clean open. Due to the maneuverability their size gave them, the two schooners easily caught up to the Jackdaw. However, even with their combined firepower they couldn’t withstand the strength of forty-six cannons and soon disappeared under the waves too.

Without her escorts, _The Duchess_ , lowered her flag on sight when they returned. Her crew, together with the owners -- a wealthy merchant and his wife -- were cut loose in boats to row towards the nearest port a few miles off. Through toil and trouble, the ship herself was sailed to a cove, her cargo too great to be taken out in the open. She was beautiful too, with her intricate woodwork and exquisite sails -- something that had caught Edward’s eye and he planned to repurpose her for his fleet.

Emma had never taken stock on a ship that massive before and spent long hours in the galley until she had everything marked. With only a few details left to be written down, she was just about finished when Cortez came to tell her _el Capitán_ had asked to see her.

The first glimpse of the captain’s cabin on _The Duchess_ left her awestruck. Its gorgeous rugs and polished floor made her kick off her boots, the footwear too mucked for such luxury. Once on the plush carpet, she wiggled her toes and grinned like a child at the sight -- the lavish furnishings were fit for a mansion and felt almost unusual on a ship. Yet despite all the details, one item in particular piqued her interest the most: the heavy set canopy bed against the nearest wall. Emma leapt face first onto the soft velvet covers and lay sprawled out ungracefully for a good few minutes. Her fingers trailed over the elaborate brocade on the fabric with acute interest before she impulsively grabbed the heavy material and rolled over, wrapping herself completely in the duvet with an enthusiastic squeal.

Curled up into a comfortable position, she wondered if they could fit the bed onto the _Jackdaw_.  Probably not; not unless they wanted to be stern heavy.

“Enjoying yourself, then?”

So engulfed had she been in the opulence that she had completely forgotten about Edward. When she looked up, she found him seated at a desk as baroque as the rest of the decor. With pipe in hand and a cheshire cat’s smirk on his face, he regarded her from behind a pile of various trinkets. They were both magpies, Emma thought; they just had different tastes in shinies.

“It’s an experience to indulge in the other side of the life you came to know best, eh?” Edward chuckled at her sheepish smile, then took a drag of the tobacco before he nodded towards a tall armoire across the room. “Reckon you might find something you fancy in it.”

It was evident the merchant liked to parade his wealth, along with looking fashionable, since most of what he owned was expensive and strikingly well made. Unsure where to wear them as they seemed a waste to be spoiled in the galley, Emma settled on the simplest garments from both the husband’s and the wife’s cabinets.

At first she concentrated on shirts and breeches, since they would be the most practical for her while on board. The material was softer than what she was accustomed to and the stitches more flamboyant, but those unfit to be worn could be easily repurposed for more personal uses during sensitive times. Towards the back of the closet, she came across a dark navy jacket with intricate golden embroidery around the cuffs, as well as down the front from the collar. It came accompanied by came a cream colored vest, and finally, a fine white shirt with lace frills from its neckband.

“Edward?” Emma presented her find with a cheeky smile. “You should try these on.”

He gave one look to the ensemble and scoffed with an eyeroll.

“Not bloody likely.”

With a dramatic pout, she set the outfit down and went back to resume her search. The merchant’s wife did not prefer her clothes simple, that much she could tell after one look at the variety of different gowns. Unless the _Jackdaw_ ’s crew got miraculously invited to a governor’s ball, it was unlikely she could wear any of them at all -- a pity too, they were gorgeous.

However, when one particular piece caught her attention, her eyes widened. Decorative was a bit of an understatement; more like extravagant, given the color of that gown. A few shades off a truly vibrant red, the previous lady of the ship was sure to turn heads when dressed in it. Emma struggled for a moment to unhook it, but when she pulled it free, the design’s full glory came to life. The lacework roses around the sleeves and corset -- slightly deeper cut than usual, making its form brazen -- must’ve taken ages to create with their elaborateness. Even without the underwire, the dress was massive thanks to a number of skirts.

“I want to try this on.” She pulled her treasure into view enthusiastically.

Edward arched an eyebrow when he saw what she held in front of her, and lowered his pipe.

“Quite daffy. Will suit you just fine.”

“Oh, piss off.” He was lucky everything in the cabin was potentially valuable or she would’ve pelted him with a shoe -- one of the less nicer ones, of course.

As his attention drifted back to the logs in front of him, Emma stepped behind the room divider and began to undress. In the safety of the cove the pirates were in no hurry to empty the ship, which gave her the liberty to take as long as she pleased. Something she would need as gowns of that size were usually a team effort to put on. The stockings were the easiest, followed by the linen shift with its front laced corset and thin underskirt. To achieve an impressive cleavage, the shirt was cut deep, the breasts hoisted high by a tightly boned bodice. On top of that, she clipped three different waist slips to give shape to the final product before reaching for the decorative silk petticoat.

Almost done, Emma grinned as she draped the top layer of the gown over herself and slipped her arms in. However, while the size difference of the previous garments were easy to ignore, it now became quite obvious as she tried to pin the stay together. The merchant’s wife, based on what she had seen, had an hourglass figure with a prominent bust and hips. Those, all by themselves, wouldn’t have been too problematic. It was the size of the waist that bothered her the most, as she didn’t have years of training to be able to fit herself into a corset that small.

Try as she might, the two sides would not come close enough together for her to fasten. Frustrated by the set-back, she stepped out from behind the divider.

“Help me.”

Edward looked as if he was about to make a comment, but had the shred of decency to stay quiet at the exasperation in her voice. With a slight tilt of his head, he examined the gown and came up looking confused.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I can’t get it closed!” She tugged on the fabric furiously to illustrate.

“It looks fine --”

“No! I want it proper!”

Amused by her aggressive sulk and the little huff, he sighed and got up.

“ _Jaysus_ , alright. Come here.”

He seemed to have expected the matter to be resolved quickly since he approached her with his usual cockiness. But once they began, it became clear he had underestimated the challenge. They had gone through various different positions in an attempt to pin the corset together, to no avail. By the end, the seams have started to weaken from Edward’s forceful jerks and the sound of stitches snapping became more prominent with each heave.

“I can’t breathe.” Emma panted while she held onto the edges of the navigation table, her face red. The two lowest clasps could be conquered after some battle which, however, only made the bodice squeeze her tighter.

“It’s either breathing or looking pretty, love. You can’t have both in this.”

“I think...I think I’ll just leave it open.”

“Just a few more bloody tries.” Edward growled as he yanked on the material. It seemed he had become more annoyed by the prospect of being defeated by a dress than she had been in the first place. He stepped back and gestured for her to wrap her arms around his neck. Exhausted, she complied and rested her head on his shoulder, which allowed him to focus on the problem again. Given the pressure on her, Emma couldn’t help but breathe heavily under his ministrations. Then, with a grunt, he pulled the corset the tightest yet and she choked out a half-strangled moan.

The struggle stopped as she felt his form stiffen under her.

“Put a cork in it, will you? I can’t concentrate.”

She barely had enough breath in her to reply.

“You can’t seriously be getting randy over this.”

Edward grumbled under his breath about suggestive sounds, but stopped his endeavor once she began to complain about severe dizziness. With gentle movements, he guided her back against the navigation table and unpinned the stay. In his warm embrace, Emma coughed for air while his hands rubbed down her back to soothe any soreness the overtight bodice might’ve caused.

After a few minutes of rest, her attempt to undress herself was cut short.

“It’s alright, I’ll do it.”

For whatever reason, it seemed even the removal of the gown was more difficult than she had expected. No longer restricted, her nausea gradually abated which enabled her to join in on the effort to get free from all the petticoats. She untied each and he dropped to his knees to shimmy the material down her legs, then held her hand when she stepped out of them. However, with each layer removed, he inched closer to her. Emma’s face flushed, this time not from the iron grip of the corset, but from the sensation of nimble fingers working over her thighs and calves.

Once the final slip came off, Edward stood, his eyes locked on hers and his hands skimmed up her sides until they came to rest on her hips. They were finally alone, the pirates too busy with their duties to come looking for them. A smile that showed she knew exactly what was to come curled her lips as she slid one of his hands down onto her arse.

Edward’s smirk was every bit as keen as hers, and when their lips met, neither of them held back -- which, at times, made her feel like they were eating each other’s faces.

A little more emboldened than she had previously been, she let her hands roam over him. His muscles felt solid even under all the armor he was clad in; something that made her give into cheeky temptation and pull him against her while she groped at his behind. The gesture seemed to catch him off guard, since he barked a short laugh into their kiss.

However, all his amusement vanished when he reached to pry her out of the last corset and came to note the intricate lacing. Edward’s gaze turned intense as he assessed the situation. Then, he sprung into action so fast it took her brain a few seconds to register that he had moved in the first place. With a fluid flick of his wrist he cut through the front smoothly, and his hidden blade slid back into its place while the bodice fell to the floor. Still taken aback by his precision, Emma stood motionless; he slyly brushed the shift off her shoulder, then took a step back to enjoy the garment’s slow descent down her body.

Edward looked positively ravenous as more of her skin got revealed. Once the chemise hit the rug, -- leaving her completely naked in front of him -- he began to disarm and his belts landed with a heavy thud.

His leisurely movements gave the impression the pace would be set after his own whim. Yet despite the hunch, when she crooked a finger to beckon him over, he was on her in an instant. Amidst passionate kisses, Emma began to unfasten his robes, only not as fast as she would’ve liked. Perhaps later she could familiarize herself with the specifics of his armor to overcome them more efficiently.

Edward broke away to pull his shirt over his head after he was stripped of his coats; however, by that time, she had unlaced his breeches and reached down to take him in her hands. He groaned, low and guttural at the contact, but swatted at her hands, then he picked her up so she was sat on top of the navigation desk.

Maps flew everywhere in a flurry and the carpet got stained by the spilled ink when he cleared the clutter from around her with one decisive swipe. Emma’s attempt to shimmy backwards was cut short by Edward’s firm hold on her thighs. The next thing she knew, he had pulled her back to the edge of the table, her legs spread wide to accommodate his form between them.

She took pleasure in the sensation of his bare skin on hers, then began to arch into his touches, her own hands roaming his body in a desire to explore. Initially he seemed content to settle above her while their lips moved against each other. When their tongues joined together, she could taste the sourness of the tobacco he had smoked, although somewhat diluted by the flavor of what she guessed was a heavily fruity liquor. A curious choice of drink, given his usual palate.

If the night they had gotten interrupted felt urgent, it had only become worse. Impatient with the pace he had set, Emma wrapped her legs around his waist and thrust up -- a not so subtle nudge to urge him on. It almost worked, since he groaned, but stopped her before she could repeat the action.

“You don’t do nothing subtle, do ya, love?”

The attempts to get him to seal the deal only got her a cocksure smirk.

“Not just yet.” Edward whispered, his mouth hot on her skin as he started to trail kisses down her neck, then her chest, with thorough attention to her breasts.

Her breath hitched when he shifted her legs to rest on his shoulders, then suggestively licked across her lower abdomen. The devilish look in his eyes gave a pretty good indication of what he intended to do and Emma bit her lip almost painfully. When his head dipped between her legs, she almost yelled out from the sensation of his lips on her.

* * *

With a final throaty moan Emma collapsed against his chest, too tired and sore to move off from on top of him. Drenched in sweat and panting heavily, both of them lay still on the cabin floor for minutes until either of them had gathered enough energy to function properly. Finally, it was Edward who wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down next to him. Tenderly, he shifted her head onto his shoulder, then draped one of her arms across his chest.

She had to admit her expectations had been completely off.

Instead of the merciless teaser who put his own pleasure first, he got his kicks differently. His selfishness found another outlet; it became obvious he had intended to show off all the tricks up his sleeves in a rush to bring her to climax as many times as he could. A continuous act of self-gratification -- his name off her lips, her moans, and ecstatic shudders were all he needed to be spurred on. But, every time Emma caught a glimpse of his face, there was no mistaking the chief sentiment behind his expression. I’m the best you’ll ever have.

Not that she wanted to dispute that claim. Edward was damn good. Even after he had found his own release, he would not let her rest and would be on her again once he was able. The sheer amount of stamina he had was impressive; the past couple of hours were a testament to that.

Still trying to catch her breath, she heard him snort to himself. When she turned her head to see his face, he grinned impishly.

“I reckon I’m better at making you breathless than a corset.”

Emma rolled her eyes and groaned.

“I much prefer when you’re not flapping your tongue.”

“That’s not the reaction I recall you having just a while ago.”

Her advantage over him was two-fold. One, he only anticipated a verbal rebuttal to his comment, like she was prone to do. And two, the benefit of helping him get dressed inadvertently taught her the spots in which he was ticklish. So when she lashed out to poke him in the side, he convulsed and guffawed loudly.

From the position he lay in, it took Edward a few tries to end her relentless assault; but once he did, he slumped back against the floor, his face red from fits of laughter. Satisfied with her punishment, Emma dragged the top layer of the gown over them and pressed a peck onto his cheek before she settled in his embrace anew.


End file.
